JUST    PUBLISHED. 


THE  ONE  FAIB  WOMAN. 

A  fascinating  new  novel  by  Joaquin  Miller.    One  of 
the  most  poetical  romances  ever  written.    The 
scenes  laid  chiefly  on  the  shores  of  the  Medi 
terranean,  and  abounding  in  picturesque 
sketches   of   Italian  life  in  Genoa, 
Naples,    Home,     Milan,    Como, 
Venice,  etc.  Beautifully  print 
ed,  with  exquisite  orna 
mental  initial  letters, 
of  Egyptian  and 
Poinpeiian 
designs. 

Price,  S3. 00. 


The  Providence  Press  calls  it,  u  One  of  the  most 
brilliant,  original,  and  impressive  novels  they  have 
read  for  many  a  year." 


G.  W.  CAKLETON  &  CO.,  Publishers, 

Madison  Square,  New  York. 


THE 


BARONESS  OF  NEW  YORK. 

4s^~ 


BY 

JOAQUIN    MILLER, 

AUTHOR  OF 
SONGS  OF  THE  SIERRAS,"  "  THE  ONE  FAIR  WOMAN,"  ETC.,  ETC. 


"  Who  is  he  that  hideth  counsel  without  knowledge  1  therefore 
liave  I  uttered  that  I  understood  not;  things  too  wonderful  for  me, 
which  I  knew  not."— Job  xlii.  3. 


NEW    YORK  : 

G.   W.  Carleton  &  Co.,  Publishers. 

MDCCCLXXVII. 

[DRAMATIC   BIGHTS  RESKKVHD.] 


Copyright,  1877,  by 
C.  H.  MILLER, 


TO 


831 


CONTENTS. 


PART  I. 

PAGE 

PRELUDE,       .........          11 


IN  THE  FOREST, 


PARTIL 

PRELUDE,        .....       .       •       •       •        105 

ON  FIFTH  AVENUE,          ......  107 


\  v\V'; 


PART  I. 


IN     THE     FOREST 


By  the  great  gold  store  of  the  vast  West  sea, 
Full  half  way  to  Tieavenfrom  your  marts  of  the  East; 
Where  maids  are  as  true  as  the  rock-rooted  tree; 
Where  man  is  as  pure  as  the  Jiairy  wild  beast. 


vv- 

}  f 

fr 


THE 


BARONESS   OF  NEW  YORK. 


PRELUDE. 

TN  a  land  so  far  that  you  wonder  whether 

The  God  would  know  it  should  you  fall  dead, 
In  a  land  so  far  through  the  wilds  and  weather, 
That  the  sun  falls  weary  and  flushed  and  red, — 
That  the  sea  and  the  sky  seem  coming  together, 
Seem  closing  together  as  a  book  that  is  read  : 

In  the  nude  weird  West,  where  an  unnamed  river 
Rolls  restless  in  bed  of  bright  silver  and  gold  ; 
Where  white  flashing  mountains  flow  rivers  of  silver 
As  a  rock  of  the  desert  flowed  fountains  of  old; 
By  a  dark  wooded  river  that  calls  to  the  dawn, 
And  makes  mouths  at  the  sea  with  his  dolorous  swan 


12  PRELUDE. 

In  the  land  of  the  wonderful  sun  and  weather, 
"With  green  under  foot  and  with  gold  over  head, 
Where  the  sun  takes  flame  and  you  wonder  whether 
JTis  an  isle  of  fire  in  his  foamy  bed : 
Where  the  ends  of  the  earth  they  are  welding  together 
In  a  rough-hewn  fashion,  in  a  forge  flame  red  : 

In  the  land  where  the  rabbits  dance  delicate  measures, 

At  night  by  the  moon  in  the  sharp  chapparral ; 

Where  the  squirrels  build  homes  in  the  earth  and 
hoard  treasures : 

Where  the  wolves  fight  in  armies,  fight  faithful  and 
well, 

Fight  almost  like  Christians  ;  fight  on  and  find  pleas 
ures 

In  strife,  like  to  man  turning  earth  into  hell : 

Where  the  plants  are  as  trees  ;  where  the  trees  are  as 

towers 

That  toy,  as  it  seems,  with  the  stars  at  night ; 
Where  the  roses  are  forests  ;  where  the  wild-wood 

flowers 

Are  dense  unto  darkness  ;  where,  reaching  for  light, 
They  spill  in  your  bosom  their  fragrance  in  showers 
Like  incense  spilled  down  in  some  sacrament  rite  : 


PREL  UDE.  13 

'Tis  the  new-finished  world;  how  silent  with  wonder 
Stand  all  things  around  you  :  the  flowers  are  faint 
And  lean  on  your  shoulder.     You  wander  on  under 
The  broad  gnarly  boughs  so  colossal  and  quaint, 
You  breathe  the  sweet  balsam  where  boughs  break 

asunder — 
The  world  seems  so  new,  as  if  smelling  of  paint. 

The  place  is  unfinished.     Yon  footfall  retreating, 
It  might  be  the  Maker  disturbed  at  his  task. 
The  footfall  of  God  or  the  far  pheasant  beating, 
It  is  one  and  the  same  whatever  the  mask 
It  may  wear  unto  man.     The  woods  keep  repeating 
The  old  sacred  sermons  whatever  you  ask. 

Here  brown-muzzled  cattle  come  stealthy  to  drink, 
The  wild  forest  cattle,  with  high  horns  as  trim 
As  the  elk  at  their  side.     Their  sleek  necks  are  slim 
And  alert  like  the  deer ;  they  come,  then  they  shrink 
As  afraid  of  their  fellows,  or  of  shadow-beasts  seen 
In  the  deeps  of  the  dark  wooded  waters  of  green. 

The  settlers  are  silent;  the  newly-built  mill 
lias  strong  burly  men,  but  a  dull  muffled  sound 
Is  all  that  you  hear.     The  waters  are  still. 


I4  PREL  UDE. 

The  wagons  drag  sullen  and  dull  on  the  ground  \ 
The  iron-toothed  mill  in  the  moss-mantled  trees 
Makes  only  a  sound  like  the  buzzing  of  bees. 


Lo  !  all  things  are  awed  ;  the  wild  is  so  vast, 
The  hush  is  so  loud  through  the  dense  gloaming  land, 
No  man  dares  assert.     The  brute  comes  at  last 
To  turn,  to  make  sign  with  a  black  hairy  hand 
And  pass  unrestrained,  while  man  awed  and  mute 
Sees  a  type  of  his  face  in  the  face  of  the  brute. 

The  bull-dog,  deep-mouthed,  sits  sullen  and  still, 

He  turns   round  and  round,  and   he  licks  his  loose 

jaws, 

He  lies  down  in  his  bed  while  the  black  bear  at  will 
Steals  forth  from  his  fen  and  lifts  his  black  paws 
And  points  to  the  white  Mason  mark  on  his  breast 
While  the  awed  hunter  rests  with  his  rifle  at  rest. 


By  the  sea,  when  the  cyclone  is  wild  in  the  wail ; 
When  the  pine -tops  are  bent  like  the  battle -borne 

spear  ; 

And  the  sea  thunders  in  on  the  bright  shining  shale, 
And  the  sombre  earth  shakes  as  if  shaken  with  fear ; 


PRELUDE.  15 

Then  the  brutes  crouching  near  lift  their  eyes  to  men's 

eyes 
And  question  such  questions  as  know  no  replies. 

It  is  man  in  his  garden  scarce  wakened  as  yet 

From  the  sleep   that   fell  on  him  when  woman  was 

made. 

The  new-finished  garden  is  humid  and  wet 
From  the  hand  that  new-fashioned  its  unpeopled  shade; 
And  the  wonder  still  looks  from  the  fair  woman's  eyes 
As  she  shines  through  the  wood  like  the  light  from 

the  skies. 

And  a  ship  now  and  then  from  the  far  Ophir's  shore 
Draws  in  from  the  sea.     It  lies  close  to  the  bank, 
Then  a  dull  muffled  sound  of  the  slow-shuffled  plank 
As  they  load  the  black  ship,  but  you  hear  nothing  more, 
And  the  dark  dewy  vines  and  the  tall  tow'ring  wood 
Like  twilight  droop  over  the  deep  sweeping  flood. 

The  black  masts  are  tangled  with  branches  that  cross, 
The  rich  fragrant  gums  fall  from  branches  to  deck, 
The  thin  ropes  are  swinging  with  streamers  of  moss 
That  mantle  all  things  like  the  shreds  of  a  wreck ; 


16  PRELUDE. 

The  long  mosses  swing,  there  is  never  a  breath: 
The  river  is  still  as  the  river  of  death. 

One  boundless  black  forest,  unnamed  and  unknown; 
One  sea  of  black  forest,  yet  at  east  of  that  sea 
Curves  a  white  shining  crescent ;  then  a  vast  snowy 

cone 

Starts  up  from  mid  crescent,  sharp,  suddenly, 
And  pierces  blue  heaven.  It  looms  up  alone  ; 
As  white  and  as  lone  as  the  great  white  throne. 


TN  the  beginning — aye,  before 

The  six-days'  labors  were  well  o'er, 
Yea,  while  the  world  lay  incomplete, 
Or  God  had  opened  quite  the  door 
Of  this  strange  land  for  strong  men's  feet, 
There  lay  against  the  westmost  sea, 
One  wierd-wild  land  of  mystery. 

A  far,  white  wall,  like  fallen  moon, 

Girt  out  the  world.     The  forest  lay 

So  deep  you  scarcely  saw  the  day, 

Save  in  the  high  held  middle  noon  : 

It  lay  a  land  of  sleep  and  dreams, 

And  clouds  drew  through  like  shoreless  streams 

That  stretch  to  where  no  man  may  say. 


Men  reached  it  only  from  the  sea, 

By  black-built  ships,  that  seemed  to  creep 
2 


1 8  IN     THE    FOREST. 

Along  the  shore  suspiciously, 
Like  unnamed  monsters  of  the  deep, 
That  ever  wake,  yet  seem  to  sleep. 
It  was  the  wierdest  land,  I  ween, 
That  mortal  man  has  ever  seen  : 

A  dim,  dark  land  of  bird  and  beast, 
Black,  shaggy  beasts  with  cloven  claw  ; 
A  land  that  scarce  knew  prayer  or  priest, 
Or  law  of  man  or  Nature's  law, 
Or  aught  that  good  men  ever  saw  ; 
Where  no  fixed  wall  drew  sharp  dispute 
Twixt  savage  man  and  silent  brute. 

It  hath  a  history  most  fit 

For  cunning  hand  to  fashion  on  ; 

No  chronicler  hath  mentioned  it ; 

No  buccaneer  set  foot  upon. 

'Tis  of  a  wild  and  outlawed  Don  ; 

A  cruel  man,  with  pirate's  gold 

That  loaded  down  his  deep  ship's  hold. 

A  deep  ship's  hold  of  plundered  gold  ! 
The  golden  cruise,  the  golden  cross, 
From  many  a  church  of  Mexico, 


IN     THE    FOREST,  19 

From  Panama's  mad  overthrow, 
From  many  a  ransomed  city's  loss, 
From  many  a  foeman  staunch  and  bold, 
And  many  a  foeman  stark  and  cold. 

He  fled  with  prices  on  his  head; 

He  found  this  wild,  wierd  land.     He  drew 

His  ship  to  shore.     His  ruthless  crew, 

Like  Romulus,  laid  hold  and  wed, 

The  half -wild  woman,  that  had  fled, 

And  in  their  bloody  forays  bore 

Red  firebrands  about  the  shore. 

The  red  men  rose  at  night.     They  came, 
A  firm,  unflinching  wall  of  flame  ; 
They  swept,  as  sweeps  some  fateful  sea, 
O'er  land  of  sand  and  level  shore, 
And  howls  in  far  fierce  agony. 
The  red  men  swept  that  deep,  dark  shore 
As  threshers  sweep  a  threshing-floor. 

And  yet  beside  the  old  Don's  door 
They  left  his  daughter,  as  they  fled. 
They  spared  her  life,  because  she  bore 
Their  Chieftain's  blood. 


20  IN     THE    FOREST. 

His  gory  head 

On  pikes  was  borne  away.     His  gold 
Was  burrowed  from  the  stout  ship's  hold, 
And  borne  in  many  a  slim  canoe, 
To  where  ?    The  grey  priest  only  knew. 

Revenge  at  last  came  like  a  tide, 
'Twas  sweeping,  deep  and  terrible ; 
The  Saxon  found  the  land  and  came 
To  take  possession  in  Christ's  name. 
For  every  white  man  that  had  died 
I  think  a  thousand  red  men  fell; 
A  gentle  custom;  and  the  land 
Lay  lifeless,  as  some  burned-out  brand. 

Steel  struck  to  flint,  and  fire  flew 

For  days;  then  all  was  dark  as  night. 

The  Saxon's  steel  was  strong  and  bright, 

The  .£gd  man's  flint  was  broken  quite. 

Now  plough-shares  plough  the  fragments  through, 

They  throw  a  thousand  flints  to  light, 

And  that  is  all  that's  left  to  you. 


IN    THE    FOREST.  21 


II. 


These  brave  world-builders  of  the  West, 

They  came  from  God  knows  where,  the  best 

And  worst  of  four  parts  of  the  world. 

With  naked  blade,  with  flag  unfurled, 

They  bore  new  empires  in  their  plan. 

A  motley  band;  the  bearded  man, 

The  eager  and  ambitious  boy, 

The  fugitive  from  fallen  Troy, 

The  man  of  fortune,  letters,  fame, 

The  old-world  knight  with  stainless  name, 

The  man  with  heritage  of  shame. 

And  thriftless  Esaus,  hairy  men 

Who  roamed  and  tracked  the  trackless  wood, 

Good,  if  it  pleased  them  to  be  good, 

Or  cruel  as  some  wild  beast  when 

He  tears  a  hunter  limb  by  limb 

And  so  sits  gloating  over  him. 

Then  cunning  Jacobs,  crafty  men, 
With  spotted  herds,  who  loved  to  keep 
Along  the  hills  a  thousand  sheep, 


22  IN    THE    FOREST. 

Who  strove  with  men  and  strove  as  when 
The  many  sons  digged  down  a  wall 
And  gloried  in  their  fellows'  fall. 

Then  black-eyed  pirates  of  the  sea, 
That  sailing  came  from  none  knew  where, 
That  sought  deep  wooded  inlets  there, 
And  took  posession  silently; 
To  rest,  they  said,  in  loved  repose — 
To  rest  or  rob,  God  only  knows. 

I  only  know  that  when  that  land 
Lay  thick  with  peril,  and  lay  far 
It  seemed  as  some  sea-fallen  star, 
The  weak  men  never  reached  a  hand 
Or  sought  us  out  that  primal  day, 
And  cowards  did  not  come  that  way. 

My  brave  world-builders  of  the  West ! 
Why,  who  doth  know  ye  ?     Who  shall  know 
But  I,  who  on  thy  peaks  of  snow 
Brake  bread  the  first  ?    Who  loves  ye  best  ? 
Who  holds  ye  still,  of  more  stern  worth 
Than  all  proud  peoples  of  the  earth  ? 


IN     THE    FOREST.  23 

Yea,  I,  the  rhymer  of  wild  rhymes, 

Indifferent  of  blame  or  praise, 

Still  sing  of  ye,  as  one  who  plays 

The  same  shrill  air  in  all  strange  climes — 

The  same  wild  piercing  highland  air, 

Because,  because,  his  heart  is  there. 


III. 

My  wild  world-builders  of  the  West! 
What  sinewy  warp,  what  wire-like  woof! 
What  brawn  breasts,  builded  arrow-proof! 
What  generous  and  open  breast — 
Or  brigand  thee  or  pirate  thou, 
I  knew  not  then,  I  care  not  now. 

Whence  came  they ?     Pirate?     Rover?    Priest? 

These  people  who  did  dare  dispute 

Possession  with  the  hairy  brute  ? 

From  out  that  West,  that  was  the  East? 

From  sulky  North  or  sultry  South  ? 

Or  spewed  from  some  sick  city's  mouth  ? 

Go  ask  the  wind-born  grasshopper; 
Nay,  ask  the  four  winds  if  they  know 


24  IN    THE    FOREST. 

From  where  they  come  or  whither  go, 
Or  why  at  all  they  rise  or  stir. 
The  world  is  round.     Tides  rise  and  fall. 
Sail  on.     All  seas  are  free  to  all. 

The  world  is  round.     All  things  repeat. 
Another  Jason  seeks  the  fleece. 
Another  Seacrops  founds  a  Greece. 
The  twins,  the  shaggy  she-wolf's  teat, 
The  Palentine,  her  heroes  bold, 
In  time  shall  be  new  tales  new  told. 


IV. 

Below  a  leafy  arch  as  grand 

As  ever  bended  heaven  spanned, 

Tall  trees  like  mighty  columns  grew — 

They  loomed  as  if  to  pierce  the  blue, 

They  reached  as  reaching  heaven  through. 

A  shadowed  stream  rolled  dark  and  slow, 
Some  men  moved  noiseless  to  and  fro 
As  in  some  vast  cathedral  when 
The  calm  of  prayer  comes  to  men. 


IN     THE    FOREST.  25 

One  trackless  wood  ;  one  snowy  cone 
That  lifted  from  the  wood  alone. 
A  wild,  wide  river  dark  and  deep, 
A  ship  against  the  shore  asleep.    . 

An  Indian  woman  crept — a  crone, 
Remote  around  the  camp  alone, 
The  relic  of  her  perished  race. 
She  wore  rich,  rudely-fashioned  bands 
Of  gold  above  her  bony  hands: 
She  hissed  her  curses  on  the  place  : 

Go  seek  the  red  man's  last  retreat! 

A  lonesome  land,  the  haunted  lands, 

Red  mouths  of  beasts,  red  men's  red  hands  : 

Did  ever  it  occur  to  you 

While  tramping  unknown  forests  through, 

That  this  same  wrapt  half  prophet  stands 

All  nude  and  voiceless,  nearer  to 

The  awful  God  than  I  or  you  ? 

A  maiden  by  the  river's  brink, 
Stood  fair  to  see  as  you  can  think, 
As  tall  as  tules  at  her  feet. 
As  fair  as  flowers  in  her  hair, 


26  IN     THE    FOREST. 

As  sweet  as  flowers  over-sweet. 

As  fair  as  wood-nymph,  more  than  fair. 

How  beautiful  she  was  !     How  wild ! 
How  pure  as  water-plant,  this  child — 
This  one  wild  child  of  nature  here 
Grown  tall  in  shadows.     And  how  near 
To  God,  where  no  man  stood  between 
Her  eyes  and  scenes  no  man  hath  seen. 
Stop  still,  my  friend,  and  do  not  stir, 
Shut  close  your  page  and  think  of  her. 

This  maiden  by  her  cabin  stood, 
The  one  sweet  woman  of  the  wood. 
The  birds  sang  sweeter  for  her  face. 
Her  lifted  eyes  were  like  a  grace 
To  woodmen  of  that  solitude. 

Aye,  she  was  fair  and  very  fair. 
The  rippled  rivers  of  her  hair 
That  ran  in  wondrous  waves,  somehow 
Flowed  down  divided  by  her  brow, 
And  flooded  all  her  breast  of  snow 
In  its  uncommon  fold  and  flow. 


IN     THE    FOREST. 

A  red  bird  built  beneath  her  roof, 
The  squirrels  crossed  her  cabin  sill 
And  frisking  came  and  went  at  will. 
A  hermit  spider  wove  his  web 
And  up  against  the  roof  did  spin 
A  net  to  catch  mosquitos  in. 

The  silly  elk,  the  spotted  fawn, 

And  all  dumb  beasts  that  came  to  drink, 

That  stealthy  stole  upon  the  brink, 

In  that  weird  while  that  lies  between 

The  drowsy  night  and  noisy  dawn, 

On  seeing  her  familiar  face 

Would  fearless  stop  and  stand  in  place. 

She  was  so  kind  the  beasts  of  night 
Gave  her  the  road  as  if  her  right. 
The  panther  crouching  overhead 
In  sheen  of  moss  would  hear  her  tread 
And  bend  his  eyes  but  never  stir 
Least  he  by  chance  might  frighten  her. 

Yet  in  her  splendid  strength,  her  eyes, 
There  lay  the  lightning  of  the  skies; 
The  love-rage  of  the  lioness, 


28  IN    THE    FOREST. 

To  kill  the  instant,  or  caress: 

A  pent-up  soul  that  sometimes  grew 

Impatient ;  why,  she  hardly  knew. 

She  sometimes  sighed,  then  rousing,  threw 

Her  strong  arms  out  as  if  to  hand 

Her  great  love,  sun-born  and  complete 

At  birth,  to  some  fair  high  god's  feet 

On  some  far,  fair  and  unseen  land. 

And  when  the  priest  her  only  friend, 
The  half-clad  hairy,  hated  priest, 
By  Saxon  shunned  as  some  wild  beast, 
Would  tell  of  cities  and  intend 
Instruction,  she  would  lean,  would  rise, 
And  all  the  glory  of  her  eyes 
Would  fill  the  humble  home,  and  she 
Would  clasp  her  hands,  and  at  his  knee 
Compel  long  tales  of  stormy  life, 
Of  love,  of  hate,  of  social  strife 
And  conquest,  till  the  proud  girl  grew 
Far  wiser  than  the  good  priest  knew. 

Yea,  all  men  hated  him.     They  said 

His  hands  were  red  with  human  blood. 

*•?' 

They  said  he  oft  times  in  the  flood 


IN     THE    FOREST, 

Plunged  in,  yet  still  his  hands  were  red. 

He  seemed  so  utterly  cast  out 

That  woodman,  meeting,  did  dispute 

And  seem  to  hold  in  lusty  doubt 

If  he,  so  hairy-clad  and  mute, 

Was  more  than  some  misshapen  brute. 

Mostlike  they  hated  him  because 
Adora  loved  him.     Then  she  drew 
From  him  deep  knowledge  of  the  laws 
Of  God  and  man,  and  therefore  grew 
Beyond  their  tallest  growth,  and  stood 
The  one  fair  flower  of  the  wood. 

Brown  woodmen  came,  brawn  woodmen  wooed- 

Tall  hunters  from  the  solitude; 

They  saw  her  face,  then  stood  as  tall 

And  kingly  as  the  sons  of  Saul. 

But  ever  prowled  the  grey  priest  near, 

And  men  felt  more  than  mortal  fear. 

None  knew  just  where  he  dwelt,  but— well, 

Black  Mungo  muttered,  "Down  in  hell." 

One  twilight,  as  the  priest  "flid  stoop 
And  humbly  pass  a  laughing  group 


29 


3o  IN     THE    FOREST. 

Of  mocking,  men,  one  plucked  his  beard 
While  others  peered  and  leaning  jeered. 
He  signaled  to  the  wood.     There  came, 
With  measured  and  majestic  tread, 
A  great,  black  beast,  with  glossy  mane, 
A  broad-foot  beast,  with  eyes  that  shone 
Like  sentry  stars  that  stand  alone 
On  edge  of  storms  where  cyclones  reign. 

He  made,  men  said,  some  fiendish  sign 
To  this  huge  brute,  and  pointing  to 
The  maid  Adora,  hastened  through 
The  dim  path,  dark  with  wood  and  vine, 
And  ere  they  dared  lay  hand  upon 
Or  stir,  the  hairy  man  was  gone. 

They  started,  terrified.    They  knew 
No  fear  akin  to  this.     They  flew 
To  arms,  they  called  black  Mungo,  ran 
To  stout-built  cabins,  and  each  man 
That  erst,  that  oft,  had  laughed  at  death, 
Went  crouching  low  with  bated  breath. 

This  man  commanded  beasts,  and  they 
Came  forth  bright-eyed  and  did  obey  ! 


IN     THE    FOREST.  31 

What  if  the  million  beasts  should  come  ? 
The  red-mouthed  monsters  ?    You  could  hear 
Their  sheath-knives  shiver  as  with  fear ; 
And  hairy  lips  were  white  and  dumb. 


V. 


How  beautiful  she  was  !     Why,  she 
Was  inspiration.     She  was  born 
To  walk  God's  summer-hills  at  morn 
Nor  waste  her  by  a  wood-dark  sea. 
What  wonder,  then,  her  soul's  white  wings 
Beat  at  the  bars,  like  living  things  ? 

She  ofttime  sighed,  and  wandered  through 
The  sea-bound  wood,  then  stopped  and  drew 
Her  hand  above  her  head,  and  swept 
The  lonesome  sea,  and  ever  kept 
Her  face  to  sea,  as  if  she  knew 
Some  day,  some  near  or  distant  day, 
Her  destiny  should  come  that  way. 

How  proud  she  was  !    How  purely  fair  ! 
How  full  of  faith,  of  love  and  strength ! 


32  IN     THE    FOREST. 

Her    great,    proud    eyes!       Her    great    hair's 

length — 

Her  long,  strong,  tumbled,  careless  hair, 
Half  curled  and  knotted  anywhere, 
From  brow  to  breast,  from  cheek  to  chin, 
For  love  to  trip  and  tangle  in. 

At  last  a  weary  sail  was  seen. 
It  came  so  slow,  so  wearily, 
Came  creeping  cautious  up  the  sea, 
As  if  it  crept  from  out  between 
The  half -closed  sea  and  sky  that  lay 
Tight  wedged  together,  far  away. 

She  watched  it,  wooed  it.     She  did  pray 
It  might  not  pass  her  by,  but  bring 
Some  love,  some  hate,  some  anything, 
To  break  the  awful  loneliness 
That  like  a  nightly  nightmare  lay, 
Upon  her  proud  and  pent-up  soul, 
Until  it  hardly  brooked  control. 

To  think  of  it !     This  hairy  priest  : 
Then  men  as  rude  as  ruthless  beast : 
And  that  was  all  this  great  soul  knew 


IN    THE    FOREST.  33 

Of  empire  she  was  born  unto. 

O,  it  was  pitiful  to  see  ! 

Here  hung  a  ripe  peach  from  the  tree, 

And  not  one  man  among  them  all 

That  stood  up  strong  enough,  or  tall 

Enough  to  pluck  it  ere  it  fall. 

The  ship  crept  feebly  up  the  sea, 
And  came — You  cannot  understand 
How  grand  she  was,  how  sudden  she 
Had  sprung,  full-grown,  to  womanhood  : 
How  gracious,  yet  how  tall  and  grand  ; 
How  glorified,  yet  fresh  and  free, 
How  human,  yet  how  more  than  good. 

The  ship  stole  slowly,  slowly  on — 
If  you  in  Californian  field 
In  ample  flower  time  have  seen 
Her  soft,  south  rose  lift  like  a  shield 
Against  the  sudden  sun,  at  dawn — 
If  you  in  far-famed  flower-land, 
In  middle  summer-time  have  seen 
The  China  rose,  like  Orient  Queen 
In  court  extravagance,  uphold 
Her  gorgeous  self,  all  suddenly 


34 


IN    THE    FOREST. 

A  double  handf  ull  of  heaped  gold, 
"Why  you,  perhaps,  may  understand 
How  splendid  and  how  sudden  she 
Shot  up  beside  that  South-west  sea. 

The  storm-worn  ship  scarce  seemed  to  creep 
From  wave  to  wave.     It  scarce  could  keep — • 
How  grand  my  lady  stood,  how  tall  ! 
How  proud  her  presence  as  she  stood 
Between  the  vast  sea  and  west  wood! 
How  large  and  liberal  her  soul, 
How  confident,  how  kind  to  all, 
How  trusting  ;  how  untried  the  whole 
Great  heart,  grand  faith,  defying  fall ! 


This  child  was  as  Madonna  to 
The  tawny,  brawny,  lonely  few 
Who  touched  her  hand  and  knew  her  soul. 
She  drew  them,  drew  them  as  the  pole 
Points  all  things  to  itself.     She  drew 
Men  upward  as  a  moon  of  spring, 
High  wheeling,  vast  and  bosom  full, 
Half  clad  in  clouds  and  wbite  as  wool, 
Draws  all  the  strong  seas  following. 


IN     THE    FOREST.  35 

And  yet  she  was  as  sad,  as  lone 

As  that  same  moon  that  leans  above 

And  seems  to  search  all  heaven  through, 

For  one  brave  love  to  be  her  own — 

For  some  strong,  all-sufficient  love 

To  lean  upon,  to  love,  to  woo — 

To  walk  her  high,  blue  world,  to  seek 

Some  place  to  rest  her  pallid  cheek. 

O  !  I  did  know  a  sad  white  dove 
That  died  for  some  sufficient  love — 
Some  high-born  soul  with  wings  to  soar, 
That  stood  nip  equal  in  his  place, 
That  looked  her  level  in  the  face, 
Nor  wearied  her  with  leaning  o'er, 
To  lift  him  where  she  lonely  trod, 
In  sad  delight  the  hills  of  God. 

How  slow  before  the  sultry  wind, 
That  lazy  ship  from  isles  or  Ind. 
How  like  to  Dido  by  her  sea, 
When  reaching  arms  imploringly, 
Her  large,  round,  rich,  expressive  arms, 
Suggesting  hoards  of  hidden  charms, 


36  IN     THE    FOREST. 

This  one  fair  lady  leaning  stood 
Above  the  sea  by  belt  of  wood. 

The  sea  winds  housed  within  her  hair. 

She  wooed  the  brave  ship  to  the  shore 

With  thoughts  she  had  not  felt  before. 

The  ship  rolled  o'er  the  lazy  seas, 

Her  shrouds  were  shreds,  her  masts  were  trees. 

The  maiden  held  her  blowing  hair, 

That  bound  her  swelling  neck  about, 

She  let  it  go,  it  blew  in  rout 

About  her  bosom  full  and  bare. 

Her  round,  full  arms  were  free  as  air, 

Her  hands  were  clasped  as  clasped  in  prayer. 

The  breeze  sprang  up,  the  battered  ship 
Began  to  flap  his  weary  wings ; 
The  tall,  torn  masts  began  to  dip 
And  walk  the  wave  like  living  things. 
Sho-  rounded  in,  she  struck  the  stream, 
She  moved  like  tall  ship  in  a  dream. 

A  captain  kept  the  deck.     He  stood 

A  Hercules  among  his  men, 

And  now  he  watched  the  sea  and  then 


IN     THE    FOREST.  37 

He  peered  as  if  to  pierce  the  wood. 

And  then  he  laughed  in  merry  mood, 

As  mocking  fate,  half  desperate, 

And  cheered  his  men  with  ready  wit, 

Of  Irish  sort,  as  counting  it 

A  jolly  jest  to  find,  at  last 

The  land,  and  all  their  perils  past. 

He  now  looked  back,  as  if  pursued, 

Then  swept  the  shore  with  glass,  as  though 

He  fled  or  feared  some  mortal  foe. 

And  yet  he  jested  all  the  whiles 

And  wreathed  his  lifted  lips  in  smiles. 

Slow 'sailing  up  th?  river's  mouth, 

Slow  tacking  north  and  tacking  south, 

He   touched  the  steep  shore  where  she  stood  ; 

He  touched  the  overhanging  wood  ; 

He  tacked  his  ship,  his  tall,  black  mast 

Touched  tree-top  mosses  as  he  passed. 

Her  hands  still  clasped  as  if  in  prayer  ; 
Sweet  prayer  set  to  silentness  ; 
Her  great,  white  throat  uplifted,  bare 
And  beautiful.     Her  eager  face 


38  IN     THE    FOREST. 

Illum'd  with  love  and  tenderness, 
And  all  her  presence  gave  a  grace 
Dark  shadowed  in  her  cloud  of  hair. 


He  saw.     He  could  not  speak.     No  more 
With  lifted  glass  he  sought  the  sea. 
No  more  he  laughed  all  carelessly; 
No  more  he  watched  the  wild,  new  shore. 
Now  foes  may  come  or  friends  may  flee, 
He  will  not  speak,  he  would  not  stir, 
He  sees  but  her,  he  fears  but  her. 

The  black  ship  rounded  to  the  shore, 
She  ground  against  the  bank  as  one 
With  long  and  weary  journey  done, 
That  would  not  rise  to  journey  more. 
Yet  still  the  tall,  proud  captain  stood 
And  gazed  against  that  wall  of  wood. 

At  last  he  roused  and  stepped  to  land, 
Like  some  Columbus. 

They  laid  hand 

On  land  and  fruit,  and  rested  there. 
And  who  was  he  ?    And  who  were  they, 


IN    THE    FOREST.  39 

The  few  he  found  that  landing  day  ? 
We  do  not  know.     They  did  not  care. 

Convenient  custom.     No  man  knew 
His  neighbor's  creed.     Each  man  began 
A  fair  race  with  his  fellow  man, 
As  Christian-like  as  ancient  Jew  ; 
As  if  'twere  some  earth-fashioned  heaven 
Where  all  who  came  had  been  forgiven. 
Where  each  man's  oak-ancestral  stood 
Above  his  head,  the  native  wood. 

They  met,  this  maiden  and  this  man: 
He,  laughing  in  the  face  of  fate, 
Yet  proud  and  resolute  and  bold. 
She,  coy  at  first,  and  mute  and  cold, 
Held  back  and  seemed  to  hesitate — 
Half  frightened  at  this  love  that  ran 
Hard  gallop  till  her  hot  heart  beat 
Like  sounding  of  swift  courser's  feet. 

Two  strong  streams  of  a  land  must  run 
Together  surely  as  the  sun 
Succeeds  the  moon.     Who  shall  gainsay 
The  gods  that  reign  ?    That  wisely  reign. 


40  IN     THE    FOREST. 

Love  is,  love  was,  shall  be  again. 
Like  death,  inevitable  it  is — 
Perchance  like  death,  the  dawn  of  bliss. 
Let  us  then  love  the  perfect  day, 
The  twelve  o'clock  of  life,  and  stop 
The  two  hands  pointing  to  the  top, 
And  hold  them  tightly  while  we  may. 

How  beautiful  she  was  !    The  walks 
By  wooded  ways  ;  the  silent  talks 
Beneath  the  broad  and  fragrant  bough, 
The  dark,  deep  wood,  the  dense,  black  dell, 
Where  scarce  a  single  gold  beam  fell 
From  out  the  sun.     They  rested  now 
On  mossy  trunk.     They  wandered  then 
By  paths  of  beasts,  through  tall  fern  fen 
Where  never  fell  the  foot  of  men. 
And  yet  she  was  as  pure  and  white 
As  angel,  and  as  fearless  quite. 


Of  fear,  of  falsehood,  or  of  shame — 
She  did  not  even  know  the  name 
Of  doubt,  of  falsehood  or  deceit. 
How  firmly  set  her  honest  feet 


IN     THE    FOREST.  41 

By  square  and  compass  and  the  rule 
Of  truth  that  needs  nor  creed  or  school. 

And  looking  in  this  stranger  s  eyes, 
This  man  that  overtopped  all  men, 
She  heard  him  tell,  in  hushed  surprise 
And  pity,  of  his  battles,  when 
He  bled  for  freedom,  how  he  fell 
A  prisoner — the  prison  cell — 
The  banishment  from  holy  home, 
Green  Erin,  in  her  girt  of  foam, 
To  far  Australian  fetters,  and 
His  flight  in  perils  from  the  land 
In  stolen  ship.     Then  at  his  feet 
She  sat,  all  tenderness  and  tears  ; 
She  bade  him  rest,  put  by  his  fears 
And  rest  forever.     This  retreat 
Were  surely  safe  and  sweet  with  peace. 
Then  springing  up  she  raised  her  hand, 
"  Behold,  behold,  this  boundless  land  ! 
Here  God  has  built  high  freedom's  wall, 
And  drawn  a  line  that  tyranny 
Shall  not  invade.    Here  fat  increase 
Awaits  the  gathering.     Why  strive 
And  stir  the  thickly-peopled  hive 


42  IN     THE    FOREST. 

While  here  all  lone  the  "honey  tree 
Droops  fragrant  and  forever  free  ?  " 

And  as  she  spake,  her  great  arms  bare 
Save  when  the  folds  and  flow  of  hair 
Blew  down  about  them,  and  her  face 
Upheld  to  heaven  with  a  grace 
That  shamed  man's  eloquence,  this  man 
Believed  he  loved  her,  and  the  zest 
Of  enterprise  and  battle's  plan 
He  thought  to  put  aside  and  rest, 
Forever  rest  and  deem  it  best. 

How  beautiful !     How  proud  and  free  ! 

How  more  than  Greek  or  Tuscan  she 

In  full  development.     Her  mouth 

Was  majesty  itself.     Give  me 

A  mouth  as  warm  as  summer  south — 

A  great,  Greek  mouth,  for  through  this  gate 

Man  first  must  pass  to  love's  estate. 

Her  mouth  was  inspiration.     Pride 
And  pity  blessed  it  side  by  side. 
'Twas  large  and  generous,  arched  out 


IN     THE    FOREST.  43 

By  dimples  and  a  tempting  pout ; 
Playful,  proud  ;  lips  ne'er  the  same, 
Yet  ever  warm  as  weded  flame. 

She  scarcely  spoke.     All  seemed  a  dream, 
She  would  not  waken  from.     She  lay 
All  night  but  waiting  for  the  day 
When  she  might  see  his  face  and  deem 
This  man,  with  all  his  perils  passed, 
Had  found  his  Lotus-land  at  last. 

Then  longer  walks,  then  deeper  woods, 
Then  tender  words,  sufficient  sweet, 
In  denser,  greener  solitudes — 
Sweet,  careless  ways  for  careless  feet, 
Sweet  talks  of  paradise  for  two, 
And  only  two,  to  watch  or  woo. 

Betime  upon  the  ancient  moss 
With  mighty  boughs  high  clanged  across, 
The  man  with  sweet  words,  over-sweet, 
Fell  pleading  plaintive  at  her  feet. 

She  sat  upon  a  mossy  throne, 
An  ancient  pine,  long  ages  prone, 


44  IN     THE    FOREST. 

And  overgrown  with  brown  green  moss, 
And  many  a  frail  vine  twined  across. 
The  wood  was  dark  as  caverned  seas, 
Save  where  one  gold-beam  through  the  trees, 
Shot  down  about  her  throne  and  shed 
A  still,  soft  halo  round  her  head. 

He  spoke  of  love,  of  boundless  love, 
Of  love  that  knew  no  other  land, 
Or  face,  or  place,  or  anything  ; 
Of  love  that  like  the  wearied  dove 
Could  light  nowhere,  but  kept  the  wing 
Till  she  alone  put  forth  her  hand, 
And  so  received  it  in  her  ark, 
From  outer  seas  and  storm  and  dark. 

He  clasped  her  hand,  climbed  past  her  knees, 

Forgot  her  hands  and  kissed  her  hair  : 

The  while  her  two  hands  clasped  in  prayer, 

And  fair  face  lifted  to  the  trees. 

Her  proud  breast  heaved,  her  pure,  white  breast 

Rose  like  some  sea  in  its  unrest. 

Her  mouth  was  lifted  as  if  she 
Disdained  the  cup  of  passion  he 


IN    THE    FOREST.  45 

Had  pressed  her  pouting  lips  to  touch. 
She  stood  as  some  storm-stricken  tree  ; 
She  stood  a  tower,  tall  as  when 
Old  Roman  mothers  suckled  men 
Of  old-time  truth  and  taught  them  such. 

At  last  she  bended  down  her  face, 
She  leaned,  then  pushed  him  back  apace, 
Then  caught  his  eye.     Calm,  silently 
Her  eyes  looked  down  into  his  eyes, 
As  one  looks  down  some .  mossy  well 
In  hope  by  some  weird  chance  to  tell 
By  image  there  what  future  lies 
Before  him,  and  what  face  shall  be 
The  pole-star  of  his  destiny. 

"And  you  do  love  me,  Doughal?"     She 
Was  trembling  as  the  courser  when 
His  thin  flank  quivers,  and  his  feet 
Touch  velvet  on  the  turf,  and  he 
Is  all  afoam,  alert,  and  fleet 
As  sunlight  glancing  on  the  sea 
And  full  of  triumph  before  men. 


46  IN     THE    FOREST. 

She  rose  in  all  her  majesty. 
"And  you  do  love  me,  Doughal?"     He, 
Forgetting  then  his  careless  air, 
Uprose  like  some  great,  gathered  sea, 
Some  strong,  third  wave  that  thunders  on 
In  hollow  hoarseness,  daring  all 
Resistance  that  might  rise  or  fall: 


"  I  do  swear,  yea,  swear 

By  all  the  peace  and  love  that  lies 

Through  upper  paths  of  Paradise, 

I  love.     I  seem  to  rise  or  fall 

With  you.     My  stormy  past  is  gone, 

A  tale  that's  told.     I  shall  grow  old 

And  die  with  you.     Your  blown  black  hair 

Shall  be  my  banner  in  the  fight 

By  day,  and  mantle  me  by  night." 

"  Nay,  swear  not,  Doughal  !  you  do  love  " — 
Her  arms  were  wide  with  welcome.     She 
Stood  tall  and  worthy  conquest  now, 
And  sweet  love  sat  her  lifted  brow 
A  diadem.     The  storm-blown  dove 
Took  refuge  from  the  deluged  sea 


IN     THE    FOREST.  47 

And  her  two  hands  went  out  for  it 
In  eager  welcome,  warm  and  fit. 

Her  proud  throat  swelled,  her  lips  were  dumb, 

But  all  her  presence  bade  him  come. 

Her  eyes  looked  level  in  his  eyes. 

They  flowed  with  love.     Her  half -pent  sighs 

Were  drowned  by  his  strong,  flowing  sea 

Of  passion,  surging  ceaselessly. 

Pure  child  of  nature,  as  she  was, 

And  lawless  lover  ;  loving  him 

With  love  that  made  all  pathways  dim 

And  difficult  where  he  was  not, 

And  knowing  only  nature's  laws 

That  laid  hard  tribute  on  desire 

And  tried  her  as  a  seven-fold  fire — 

Then  marvel  not  at  form  forgot. 

She  sighed,  she  bended  down  her  brow, 

She  battled  not  with  nature  now. 

\  Why  should  she  ?    Doth  the  priest  know  aught 
Of  sign,  or  holy  unction  brought 
From  over  sea  that  ever  can 
Make  man  love  maid  or  maid  love  man 


48  IN     THE    FOREST. 

One  whit  the  more,  one  bit  the  less, 
For  all  his  mummeries  to  bless  ? 
Yea,  all  his  blessing  or  his  ban  ?  ) 

Her  form  bent  down,  a  laden  bough 
Of  ripest,  richest  kisses  now. 
A  kiss  of  passion  ?    More  or  less  ? 
I  do  not  say.     You  dare  not  guess. 
And  yet  do  what  he  dared  or  might 
She  kept  her  white  soul  snowy  white. 

"I  love  you,  Doughal."     And  her  arms 
Wound  round  his  neck,  and  all  her  charms 
Lay  like  ripe  fruit  for  gathering. 
He  drowned  his  hot  face  in  her  hair, 
He  felt  her  bosom  swell.     The  air 
Swooned  sweet  with  essence  of  her  form. 
Her  breast  was  warm,  her  breath  was  warm, 
And  warm  her  warm,  tremendous  mouth 
As  summer  journey  through  the  South. 

The  air  was  rich  as  Araby  : 
She  swooned  upon  his  breast.     She  lay, 
Long  tossed  by  passion,  on  his  breast, 
Hot  blushing  for  this  IOVP  confessed : 


IN    THE    FOREST.  49 

Like  some  poor  wreck  and  cast-away 
All  breathless  and  unconscious  lay. 
Yet  mind,  I  say,  do  what  he  might 
She  kept  her  pure  soul  snowy  white. 

A  bright  brown  nut  dropped  like  a  star 
From  woody  heaven  overhead, 
A  wild  beast  trumpeting  afar 
Aroused  her  ere  the  light  had  fled. 

A  stray,  dead  leaf  was  in  her  hair  — 
Her  long,  strong,  tumbled  storm  of  hair  ; 
Her  eyes  seemed  floating  anywhere. 
Her  proud  development,  half  bare, 
And  beautiful  as  chiseled  stone 
Of  famed  far  ISTapoli,  leaned  there 
Like  some  fair  Thracian  overthrown. 


She  was  not  shamed.     Her  love  was 
And  pure  and  fair  as  heaven's  blue. 
Her  love  was  passionate,  yet  true 
As  upward  flame.     A  stifled  sigh 
And  then  a  flood  of  tears,  and  lo  ! 
A  sigh  that  shook  her  being  so 


5o  IN     THE    FOREST. 

It  startled  Doughal  where  he  stood, 
Like  some  bowed  monarch  of  the  wood. 


Her  proud  face  now  fell  white  as  wool, 
Her  lips  fell  pale  and  pityf ul. 
Her  great,  proud  mouth,  a  splendid  flower 
Drooped  pale  and  passionless.     Her  arms 
Reached  out  in  suppliance.     Her  charms 
Like  ravished  lilies  lay. 

Until  this  hour 

She  had  been  all  herself.     But  now 
She  trusted  not  herself.     Somehow 
The  sighs  would  come,  and  come,  and  come, 
Though  eyes  bent  down,  though  lips  kept  dumb, 
As  seas  that  beat  upon  the  shore. 
Her  soul  was  beaten  as  a  shore 
Is  beaten  by  a  storm  just  o'er 
That  will  but  beat  and  beat  the  more. 

She  did  essay  to  go.     Again 

She  drooped,  a  goddess  slain. 

She  lay  half  lounging  in  a  strange  surprise, 

Scarce  knowing  what  she  wholly  knew. 

She  did  not  lift  her  face,  her  eyes— 


IN     THE    FOREST.  5I 

Her  eyes  were  on  the  ground.     They  grew 
Familiar  with  the  meek-eyed  plant, 

<H 

Familiar  with  the  little  ant,  * 
And  other  insects  as  they  ran 
And  built  their  lowly  world  :  all  wise, 
In  perfect  carelessness  of  man. 

He  rose  before  her,  sighed,  "  Alas  ! " 
Looked  down  as  if  to  catch  her  eyes, 
Recall  her  soul  and  bid  her  rise — 
Her  soul  that  kept  its  snowy  white, 
Dare  what  he  dared,  do  what  he  might. 

He  spoke.     She  did  not  answer  him. 
Her  small  hand  clutched  a  tuft  of  grass 
As  if  she  feared  the  world  might  pass 
From  out  her  hand,  she  was  so  weak. 
And  lifting,  doubtfully  and  dim, 
Her  brimming  eyes — she  could  not  speak 
For  flood  of  tears  upon  her  cheek. 

O  it  was  pitiful !     He  fell 
Upon  his  knees.     He  took  her  hand, 
But  not  with  ardor  now,  and  well 
She  marked  the  difference. 


5 2  IN     THE    FOREST. 

The  land, 

Seemed  reeling  still.     Yet  with  a  will 
She  rose  and  stood  up  tall  and  grand. 

No  words  she  spoke.     With  drooping  eyes 
She  passed  along  the  path.     The  pride 
Of  yesterday  was  overthrown. 
She  would  have  crept  along  alone, 
But  he  came  stealing  at  her  side 
Half  looking  back. 

In  mad  surprise 

He  saw  that  priest  with  black-beast  eyes 
Still  at  their  side,  with  waving  hand, 
As  if  to  wave  him  from  the  land — 
As  waving  him  from  Paradise. 

VI. 

Her  great  love  grew  a  steady  flame. 
The  moons  rolled  by.     At  last  he  came 
To  shorten  this  long,  wayward  walk, 
To  careless  turn  and  careless  talk 
Of  far-off  land,  of  friendships  rare, 
Of  warlike  men,  of  maidens  fair, 


IN     THE    FOREST.  53 

Of  brave  old  obligations  bound 

By  circumstance  to  lead  him  round 

The  world   from  her  dear  presence  there. 

She  heard,  she  spoke  not  all  this  while, 
Nor  answered  save  with  half -feigned  smile. 
He  talked  of  fates  that  girt  them  round 
Quite  lightly,  and  he  came  to  deem 
His  rest  had  been  some  South-sea  dream 
From  which  he  now  must  rise  and  go, 
Cross  seas,  strong  girt  to  front  the  foe. 

To  front  the  foe  or  seek  a  maid 
That  his  long  dalliance  delayed, 
She  could  not  guess.     She  did  not  know, 
She  did  not  care.     She  could  not  speak, 
For  tears  that  flooded  her  pale  cheek. 

One  morn  the  sound  of  hammer  fell 
From  out  the  ship.     And  then  a  mast 
New-hewn  uprose  and  pointed  past 
The  solid  land  to  mobile  seas. 
Then  days  and  days  that  coffin  knell 
Kept  sounding  through  the  silent  trees ; 


54 


IN     THE    FOREST. 

And  he  did  hint  of  ship  and  sail 
And  lightly  laugh  of  storm  and  gale. 

She  questioned  why  he  would  depart. 
He  careless  spoke  with  careless  heart 
Of  poverty,  of  pride,  of  shame, 
That  he,  high  born,  with  honored  name, 
Should  walk  upon  the  world's  wide  rim 
And  die  with  none  to  honor  him. 


He  said  he  had  one  friend,  but  one, 
Who  roamed  the  world  in  want,  alone, 
A  fellow-prisoner,  who  fled 
With  him,  with  prices  on  his  head. 

That  they  together  long  had  lain, 
Bound  hand  to  hand   in  felons'  chain 
For  freedom's  cause  :  that  to  this  end, 
To  find  his  friend  forlorn  and  lone, 
And  beggared,  aye,  perchance  half  dead 
That  moment,  for  a  crust  of  bread, 
He  now  must  rise  and  roam  again, 
And  seek  the  world  for  that  one  friend. 


IN    THE    FOREST.  55 

She  sprang  erect,  let  loose  her  hold 
Of  his  hard  hand.    O,  ne'er  till  then 
Had  she  cared  aught  for  shining  gold 
Or  lands,  or  guild  to  purchase  men. 
She  sought  the  priest,  fell  at  his  feet, 
Implored,  and  patient  did  entreat 
If  he  knew  aught  where  that  great  hoard 
Of  her  dead  father's  gold  was  stored, 
To  tell  her  true,  that  she  might  give 
It  all,  that  this  man's  friend  might  live. 

He  shook  her  off.     He  turned  away, 

He  tore  his  long  beard,  blown  and  grey, 

Then  glanced  at  her.  "  There's  blood !  there's  blood ! 

There's  heathen  blood  that  all  yon  flood 

Might  not  for  ages  wash  away  ! 

My  child,  look  here  !     For  many  a  day, 

For  many  a  month,  and  many  a  year, 

These  dim  eyes  watched  your  growth,  and  now 

Whose  hand  shall  gather  from  the  bough? 

"  That  ship,  my  lady,  shall  not  pass 
To  seaward,  while  I  live.     Alas  ! 
He  takes  your  heart,  your  love,  and  he 
Would  leave  the  hollow  husk  to  me. 


56  IN     THE    FOREST. 

And  now,  so  less  than  buccaneer, 
Would  beg  the  gold  that's  buried  here. 
Your  father  won  it  with  his  sword, 
Yet  he  would  beg  his  gold,  this  hoard, 
From  you,  poor  girl,  then  take  the  sea. 
He  shall  not  go!     He  shall  not  go, 
While  white  moons  wane  or  full  tides  flow." 


VII. 

One  morn  a  new-sewn  strip  of  sail 
Had  blossomed  on  the  new-hewn  mast. 
A  chain  that  long  had  grappled  fast 
The  solid  earth  had  loosened  now, 
And  dangled  at  her  lifted  prow. 
A  screeching  anchor  cried  in  wail. 
My  lady  did  not  start  or  stir; 
The  sturdy  stroke  of  carpenter 
Struck  as  on  coffin  lid  to  her. 

And  yet  she  never  spoke  one  word, 
For  all  she  saw,  for  all  she  heard  ; 
For  all  she  felt,  she  would  not  lay 
One  feather  in  his  ruthless  way. 
He  came  to  think  her  tame  and  cold, 


IN     THE    FOREST.  57 

He  questioned  of  the  buried  gold, 
He  questioned  of  the  hag  with  bands 
Of  gold  about  her  bony  hands, 
And  lightly  laughed  of  finding  prize, 
Of  pirate's  gold  to  glad  his  eyes. 

She  never  spoke  one  word  at  all, 

Her  breast  would  heave,  her  eyes  would  fall 

Upon  the  ground  ;  her  nervous  foot 

In  gold-bright,  beaded  moccasin 

Would  tap  the  ground  or  out  and  in 

Half  nervously  would  dart  and  shoot, 

And  shoot  and  dart,  but  that  was  all. 


His  air  grew  careless  quite  and  cold  ; 
Again  he  came  to  talk  of  gold  ; 
And,  too,  to  hint  of  ship  and  sail, 
And  sad  regrets  that  fates  prevail. 

She  heard  it  all !     She  heard  it  all ! 
Aye,  every  hateful  word  did  fall 
Like  lead  dropped  in  her  sinking  heart. 
She  had  not  spoken  yet.     Nay,  she 
Had  only  looked  her  soul.     Her  part 


58  IN    THE    FOREST. 

Had  not  been  words,  but  deeds.     Her  all 
She  gave,  so  generous,  so  free, 
So  lordly  gave,  so  grand,  that  he 
Had  grown  love-surfeited.     He  thought 
The  maiden  passionless,  with  naught 
That  lifts  above  life's  common  lot. 


Yin. 

One  still,  soft,  summer  afternoon 

In  middle  deep  of  wood,  the  two, 

Where  tangled  vines  twined  through  and  through, 

Together  sat  upon  the  tomb 

Of  perished  pine,  that  once  had  stood 

The  tall-plumed  monarch  of  the  wood. 

The  far-off  pheasant  thrummed  a  tune, 

The  faint  far  billows  beat  a  rune 

Like  heart  regrets.     The  sombre  gloom 

Was  ominous.     Around  her  head 

There  shone  a  halo.     Men  have  said 

'Twas  from  the  dash  of  Titian  hue 

That  flooded  all  her  storm  of  hair 

In  gold  and  glory.     But  they  knew, 

Yea,  all  men  know  there  ever  grew 


IN     THE    FOREST.  59 

•*v  * 

A  halo  round  about  her  head 
Like  sunlight  scarcely  vanished. 


Her  mouth  had  taken  back  its  hue 

Of  rosy  red.     Her  lips  had  more 

Intense  and  proud  expression  now ; 

And  now  they  bent  as  if  they  knew 

To  send  the  deadly  arrow  through 

And  pierce  the  centre.     Now  her  heart 

Had  grown  to  know,  to  act  a  part. 

One  small  foot  tapped  the  fallen  leaves, 

The  other,  lightly  to  and  fro 

Went  shooting,  as  the  shuttle  weaves 

Through  woof  and  warp.     Her  eyes  bent  down, 

Her  dark  brow  gathered  in  a  frown, 

She  mused  as  if  she  would  explore 

The  mysteries  that  lay  before. 

Her  thoughts  were  far  away.     She  thought 

Of  peopled  cities,  shoreless  seas 

White  sown  and  blown  with  blossomed  sail. 

She  thought  of  Doughal  roving  these 

In  glory  and  alone.     She  caught 

Her  breath  convulsively.     The  while 


60  IN     THE   .FOREST. 

She  wore  a  calm  and  careless  smile— 
The  calm  that  ushers  in  the  gale. 


A  calm  more  awful  is  than  storm. 

Beware  of  calms  in  any  form. 

This  life  means  action.     Ancient  earth 

Rests  not.     The  agonies  of  birth, 

The  brave  endeavor  to  express 

Herself  in  beauty  evermore, 

Evermore  to  bloom  and  bless 

Her  many  children  with  her  store 

Of  luscious  fruits  and  golden  grain — 

The  wooing  winds,  the  driving  rain 

Are  well.     But  dead  calm  in  the  land 

Means  reeling  earthquakes  where  you  stand. 

How  still  she  was.     She  only  knew 
His  love.     She  saw  no  life  beyond. 
She  loved  with  love  that  only  lives 
Outside  itself  and  selfishness  : 
A  loves  that  glows  in  its  excess: 
A  love  that  melts  red  gold,  and  gives 
Thenceforth  to  all  who  come  to  woo 
No  coins  but  his  face  stamped  thereon— 


IN     THE    FOREST.  61 

Aye,  that  one  image  stamped  upon 
Its  face,  with  some  dim  date  long  gone. 

She  tapped  her  foot,  half  forced  a  smile 

And  did  recall  his  splendid  tale 

Of  promises,  that  all  time  through 

They  two  should  range  the  world.     She  knew, 

Her  woman's  instinct  taught  her  well, 

He  now  had  other  tales  to  tell. 


He,  too,  was  far  away.     Yet  now 

His  eyes  fell  on  her  troubled  brow 

And  all  her  beauty.     Well  he  knew 

That  he  might  search  God's  garden  through 

And  l^hen  not  find  one  single  flower 

Like  this  that  blessed  him  in  that  hour. 

And  yet  he  wearied.     She  seemed  dumb 
And  passionless.     Life  lay  all  glow 
For  him  ;  for  him  the  scroll  of  fame, 
For  him  a  proud,  high  hall,  a  name 
That  men  should  bend  their  heads  to  hear. 
Yea,  lie  would  sail  the  seas,  would  come 
Some  later  day,  by  ship  draw  near 


62  IN    THE    FOREST. 

And  touch  the  land,  take  kiss,  and  so 
Sail  on  to  land  of  sun  or  snow. 

She  knew  his  thought.     The  day  before 
She  heard  the  black  ship's  creaking  cranks 
Draw  in  the  wood.     The  water  tanks 
Had  made  a  muffled,  hollow  roar 
As  if  their  oak  staves,  shrunk  and  dried, 
Felt  iron  piercing  in  the  side. 

He  restless  rose  to  leave  the  wood. 

She  knew  his  thought.     She  rose  and  stood 

Before  him,  tall  and  queenly  tall. 

Her  hair  in  black  abundant  fall 

And  fringe  of  faint,  dim  flame  fell  down, 

About  her  loose,  ungathered  gown 

Like  starlit  night  along  a  wood. 

"  And  would  you  leave  me,  Doughal  ?    You, 

Who  swore  by  heaven  to  be  true 

To  her  who  fed  you,  famishing, 

And  all  your  loud,  unruly  crew  ? 

Nay,  that  were  little.     Bread  is  due 

To  all  who  hunger.     But  the  thing 

That  rends  me,  Doughal,  is,  that  you 


IN     THE    FOREST.  63 

Should  add  to  falsehood,  coward  flight, 
Like  some  dark  felon  in  the  night." 

He  sprang  back,  jerked  his  head  sidewise, 

And  tried  to  front  her  level  eyes. 

Yet  do  his  best,  he  ever  fouud 

His  glance  fall  feebly  to  the  ground. 


"And  you  would  leave  me  in  disgrace?" 
She  scarce  did  whisper,  and  her  face 
Was  as  a  woman's  that  had  died. 
"  These  men,  my  savage,  simple  friends, 
Frown  dark  and  angered  where  I  come. 
I  stand  abashed,  my  priest  is  dumb 
With  shame  and  anger.     To  these  ends 
Did  I  surrender  love  and  pride." 


Her  low  voice  trembled.     Like  a  tree, 
-The  tall  and  topmost  tree,  that  feels 
The  coming  storm,  and  rocks  and  reels 
Ere  yet  the  storm  strikes  strong  and  free 
The  under  wood,  her  form  did  shake 
With  passion  man  should  not  mistake. 


6.|  IN     THE    FOREST. 

"  You  speak  of  your  proud  birth,  your  line 
Of  ancient-  lords,  your  storied  name, 
That  I,  you  fear,  might  bring  to  shame 
liefore  the  priest  and  sacred  shrine. 

"Why  spoke,  you  not  of  this  before 

Your  pillage?      Late,  <|iiit<-  lale,  too  late, 

You  thought,  my  Doughal,  of  wucli  fate ; 

You  speak  of  poverty,  of  mine. 

My  poverty  !     Ah  !  it  is  1  rue 

Thai    I  am  poor.      Yet  not  so  poor 

IXut  you  came  begging  j0  my  door  ; 

A  strange,  half-naked,  limited  tiling, 

And   when  you  <j;a,thered  slren^lh  onc(!  more 

Why  you  turne<l  rohlx-r,  thief,  and  you 

Did  find  it  pleasant  plundering!" 

He  started,  stung  to  anger.      lie 
Knew  not,  the  dark  enormity 
Of  his  long  purposed  deed  till  now. 
lie  raided  his  )>road  hand  to  his  brow. 

His  was  the  cnmmoii  rode  of  men 
To  pillage,  plunder  hearls,  ami  then, 
Thief-like,  depart   before  the  dawn, 


IN     THE    FOREST.  65 

And  leave  behind  a  haunted  hall 
With  broken  statues  on  the  floor — 
With  household  idols  scattered  o'er, 
And  only  shadows  on  the  wall, 
That  never,  never  are  withdrawn. 
He  stood  abashed,  held  down  his  head, 
Half  turned,  as  if  he  would  have  fled. 

"I  know  not  who  you  are.     I  see 

Now  at  the  last  you  know  not  me. 

Do  you  suppose — come,  lift  your  face, 

Act  not  the  felon  in  disgrace  ! 

But  if  a  villain  you  must  be, 

Why,  be  a  brave  one,  and  the  curse 

Is  half  o'ercome — do  you  suppose 

That  ship  shall  ever  cross  the  sea  ? 

Or  ever  touch  on  other  shore  ? 

No  chief  shall  keep  that  deck.     Nay,  more, 

Than  this,  my  man.     Your  many  foes 

That  were  your  friends  but  yesterday 

Have  sworn  that  ship  shall  rot  away 

Beneath  these  same  bent,  burning  skies 

Against  the  black  beach  where  she  lies." 

He  trembled.     Then  he  bowed  at  last 

As  bends  a  strong  tree  to  the  blast, 
5 


66  IN     THE    FOREST. 

A  touch  of  fear,  a  tinge  of  shame, 
Swept  o'er  his  face.     "The  priest,"  he  said, 
As  rising  with  half-lifted  head, 
"  Shall  give  to  you  another  name. 

"  And  then,  why  if  you  choose  to  chance 
Uncertain  fate  where  men  advance 
On  peril's  front,  to  face  a  foe, 
Or  toss,  a  very  fortune's  ball, 
Why,  then,  since  you  will  have  it  so 
Come,  call  your  priest  and  we  will  go." 

He  paused,  he  held  his  head  quite  low, 
And  thought  a  time  deep  down,  as  one 
In  game  of  chess  that  is  outdone. 
Then  lifting  up  he  gaily  said, 
His  hot  cheek  mounting  high  with  red, 
"  Yea,  we  will  go,  though  death  befall, 
Come  fame  or  shame,  fall  friend  or  foe  ; 
Go  man  and  wife  ;  for,  after  all, 
Perhaps  my  duty  bids  it  so." 

She  did  not  answer  him.     The  blood 
Sank  from  her  face  like  sinking  flood 


IN     THE    FOREST.  67 

That  only  leaves  the  clodden  clay, — 
She  could  not  stir,  she  would  not  say. 

The  priest  came  forth  as  if  he  came 
From  'twixt  twin  monarchs  of  the  wood 
That  like  cathedral  columns  stood. 
And  Doughal  started.     Was  he  there 
To  keep  his  fair  maid  from  despair  ? 
To  keep  her  white,  sweet  soul  from  shame  ? 
Had  this  same  priest  forever  stood 
And  ever  watched  him,  in  this  wood? 

The  silent  priest  placed  hand  in  hand, 
Upheld  his  cross  against  the  sun, 
As  in  most  solemn  service  done 
In  any  clime  or  Christian  land; 
Then,  falling  on  his  knees,  he  prayed 
Before  the  pure  and  pallid  maid, 
As  to  Madonna.     Doughal  fell 
Upon  his  knees,  and  all  was  well. 

High  overhead  the  surging  pine 
Swung  conser-cones,  as  at  a  shrine. 
Below,  the  breathing  ocean  beat 
Like  mighty  organ  at  their  feet. 


68  IN     THE    FOREST. 

Adora  kneeled  as  in  a  dream  ; 
She  could  not  speak  nor  understand  ; 
She  scarcely  knew  to  give  her  hand, 
But  was  as  one  borne  down  a  stream 
That  helpless  reaches  to  the  land. 

The  good  priest  rose,  outspread  his  hand ; 
He  said  his  prayer,  and  so  passed  on 
Like  some  still  shadow  slow  withdrawn, 
And,  in  the  custom  of  the  land, 
The  two  were  wed  and  made  as  one. 


Then  Doughal  rose,  took  in  his  breath 
As  one  that  just  had  fronted  death. 
He  rallied  with  an  effort  now 
And  dashed  a  hand  across  his  brow. 

He  careless  turned,  put  forth  his  hand, 
Half  stooped  as  if  to  heedless  kiss 
The  lips  the  priest  had  now  made  his— 
Those  lips,  the  proudest  in  the  land 
Had  died  to  touch  in  that  brave  time 
When  valor  had  a  name  sublime, — 
When  Spain's  proud  banners  blew  along 


IN    THE    FOREST.  69 

The  rock-built  hills  of  Jebus,  and 
A'  woman's  name  and  woman's  fame 
Was  chorus  to  the  soldier's  song. 

She  started  back.     She  dashed  his  hand 
Aside,  as  if  a  serpent's  head 
Had  thrust  at  her  to  strike  her  dead, 
And  stood,  as  high  built  statues  stand. 

Her  hair  shook  back,  her  splendid  hair 
Rolled  back  from,  round  her  lifted  face, 
Her  round,  right  arm  was  in  the  air, 
Like  Justice  rising  to  her  place. 

"  Your  duty,  Doughal,  bids  it  so  ! 
Your  duty  bade  you  wed  me  !     Go  ! 
If  God  will  let  you.    Go,  and  say, 
When  gathered  with  your  comrades  gay, 
That  you  once  had  a  royal  day, 
When  resting,  hungered  and  outworn, 
Upon  a  far-off  land  forlorn, 
And  laugh  at  me.     Go,  safely.     I 
Shall  not  detain  you.     Kneel  and  lie 
To  other  maidens  if  you  may, 


70  IN     THE    FOREST. 

And  swear  to  studied  lies  !     Go  now  ! 
Take  back  your  freedom  and  your  vow." 

She  towered  up.     She  seemed  to  grow, 
To  grasp  the  grandeur  of  the  trees, 
To  catch  the  fervor  and  the  glow 
Of  flushing  sunset  on  the  seas. 

"  And  take  my  curse  !     Why,  I  would  kill, 
Would  clutch  and  kill  you  where  you  stand, 
Would  strangle  you  with  this  right  hand, 
And  hide  you  underneath  the  hill 
In  hollows  of  the  wood,  and  I 
Would  come  alone,  in  twilight  dim, 
To  see  your  corse  torn  limb  from  limb 
By  wild  beasts  fattening  their  fill, 
Were  you  but  worthy  so  to  die. 

"  Nay  !     Nay !    Start  not,  lest  you  do  die  ! 

The  hunter  looks  the  lioness 

Hard  face  to  face,  eye  set  to  eye, 

And  flinches  not  a  hair.     Nor  less 

Than  that  fierce  forest-beast  am  I, 

I,  I  the  forest  maid  whom  you 

Would  rob  of  all  she  hath,  and  fly 


IN     THE    FOREST.  71 

To  pltTnder  other  souls  while  yet 
Your  very  hands  with  blood  are  wet, 
And  lips  with  nests  of  lies  are  blue. 

"What  gifts  God  gave  you  !     Think  of  it ! 
A  form  well-fashioned,  strong  and  tall. 
A  face  all  manliness,  and  all 
A  woman  loves.     Then  words,  and  wit, 
And  knowledge  of  the  world.     Yet  these 
You  prostitute  and  sell  to  please 
The  basest  part  of  you,  and  bring 
Disgrace,  dishonor,  darkness,  shame, — 
Destruction  on  the  dearest  thing, 
Beside  your  mother,  you  might  name. 

"  And  then  to  lie  !     Why,  had  you  not 
Enough  with  all  your  gifts  to  win 
The  wood-born  girl  ?     Have  I  forgot 
The  thousand  falsehoods  you  let  in 
The  open  flood-gates  of  my  soul, 
Swung  wide  to  welcome  you,  and  all 
Your  cursed  plans,  plotting  to  my  fall  ? 

"Who  talked  of  duty,  Doughal,  then  ? 
Who  talked  of  duty,  Doughal,  when 


72  IN    THE    FOREST. 

I  walked  these  woods  with  love-filled  soul, 
When  all  life  filled  to  flowing  tide 
As  when  the  great,  third  billows  roll  ? 
When  you  walked,  wooing  at  my  side, 
And  named  my  forest's  paradise? 
Who  talked  of  duty,  Doughal,  say, 
All  that  half-year,  that  seemed  a  day  ? 

"  How  my  heart  swelled,  and  thrilled  and  beat 

That  day  I  rested  at  your  feet 

And  bade  you  tell  your  battles  o'er  ! 

God  !  I  could  see  the  moving  men  ! 

Could  hear  the  clash,  the  battle's  roar — 

And  when  you  talked  of  honor  !  when 

You  said  'twas  all  for  others  !  said 

You  freely  staked  for  your  fair  land, 

Your  life,  your  fortune,  freedom,  and 

Your  love,  and  so  lost  all  but  life, 

I  longed  to  be  your  soldier  wife. 

"How  I  sprang  up  and  clasped  your  hand 

In  my  two  hands  !  I  kissed  your  brow, 

Your  sword-scarred  brow,  your  brave  sword-hand — 

To  die  for  others  !     That  were  grand 

Beyond  all  else.     Aye,  even  now 


IN     THE    FOREST. 

I  feel  the  same  proud  pulse  as  then 

How  I  did  love  you !     Why,  I  said, 
Poor  fool,  I  know  right  well  that  he 
Would  bravely  die  the  same  for  me, 
For  he  a  thousand  times  has  told 
He  loves  me  more  than  lands  or  gold. 

"Stand  back  !     Stop  fast  your  lips,  lest  lies 
Creep  out  like  drone  bees  from  a  hive. 
For  they  are  breeding  lies;  they  thrive 
As  on  corruption. 

Honor  dies, 

Then  lies  breed  in  his  corpse,  as  breed 
White  worms,  that  on  corruption  feed. 

"Forgive?     Forgive!     Do  you  not  know 
What  mixed  and  counter-currents  flow 
In' my  hot  veins?     The  blood  of  Spain 
And,  too,  a  tinge  of  red  man's  blood ! 
And  list !     You  hear  that  throbbing  main  ? 
It  is  my  mother's  voice,  for  lo ! 
Here  was  I  born,  here  fearless  grown, 
And  all  her  anger  is  mine  own. 
The  majesty  of  mighty  wood, 


73 


74  IN     THE    FOREST. 

The  fury  of  the  winter  flood. 

Behold !  their  grandeur  and  their  truth 

Grown  in  me  all  my  tranquil  youth. 


"My  youth  !     My  youth  !     'Tis  far  away. 

And  yet  was  I  this  very  day, 

This  very  season,  but  a  child. 

Why,  Doughal,  I  this  hour  have  grown 

To  tall  and  perfect  womanhood. 

This  hour  I  have  crossed  the  zone 

That  separates  the  girl  and  she 

Who  sits  in  matron  council.     I 

Am  old  and  thoughtful  now.     I  stood 

But  this  one  hour  since,  half-wild, 

Half -rent  and  torn  with  agony, 

And  praying  God  to  let  me  die. 

"But  I  am  calm  now.     Quick,  then !     Go! 
Go  quickly  !  while  I  keep  me  so. 
Go  now,  while  I  affect  the  child  : 
Begone,  lest  I  grow  strong  and  wild 
Beyond  endurance,  and  that  blood, 
That  surging,  rising,  red  man's  blood, 
Breaks  forth  like  some  fierce,  pent-up  flood. 


IN     THE    FOREST. 

"Go,  go,  and  go  with  curses  hot 
To  hound  you  to  the  utmost  spot 
Of  land  or  sea  your  ship  shall  touch. 
Aye,  we  did  talk  of  journeys.     Much 
You  talked  in  pretty  lies,  of  lands 
Where  summer  sat  eternally 
By  green-girt  shore,  on  golden  sands, 
To  sing  in  sea-shells  of  the  sea — 
Of  anchorage  against  that  shore, 
And  peace  and  love  forevermore. 

"To  think  of  far-off  lands!     Of  towns 
That  stretch  away  like  woodless  downs. 
O,  how  I  panted  when  my  priest 
Described  great  cities  populous 
And  proud  with  consequence.     The  least 
Were  great  to  me.     I  could  not  guess 
That  one  should  come  to  me  from  thence, 
With  lies  for  his  inheritance. 
Yet  I  shall  see  those  cities,  aye, 
Possess,  before  'tis  time  to  die." 


Her  voice  fell  low.     Her  great,  proud  lips 
Curled  full  and  passionless.     She  stood 


75 


?6  IN     THE    FOREST. 

All  pallid  to  her  finger-tips 

And  trembled  like  an  aspen  wood. 

He  now  fell  down  upon  his  knees. 
He  loved  her  now.     His  cruel  heart 
Had  been  pierced  deeper  than  she  knew. 
He  lifted  up  his  face.     He  threw 
His  two  hands  wildly  to  the  trees. 
He  prayed  and  plead  she  would  depart 
At  once,  go  forth  upon  the  seas 
And  sail  with  him  for  aye,  and  be 
His  white  dove  of  the  deluged  sea. 

"  Adora,  come.     I  swear  to  you, 
I  love  you,  love  you,  ardent,  true  ; 
I  love  you  as  the  fervid  sun 
Loves  earth.     I  am  undone,  undone, 
With  this  dark  curse  upon  my  head, 
And  fall  before  you  as  one  dead." 


She  stood  as  obdurate  as  Fate. 
She  did  disdain  to  turn  her  head, 
Lest  she  might  heed  the  love  he  said 
And  let  her  love  outrun  her  hate. 


IN    THE    FOXES  T.  77 

"  I  hate  him  with  a  searching  hate 
That  shall  pursue  him  to  the  gate 
Of  outer  darkness  !     ...     I  do  hate 
This  man    .    .    .    and  yet  I  love  him  still, 
Despite  my  hate,  despite  my  will." 

Her  face  rose  like  a  rising  morn. 
That  great  curled  lip  of  hers  was  scorn 
Enough  to  shame  a  court  of  kings. 
As  some  poor  child  at  night  outworn, 
Puts  wearied  by  its  worn  playthings, 
So  she,  with  an  impatient  sigh, 
Still  scorning,  reached  and  put  him  by. 

Then  as  he  passed,  she  turned  and  said 

Half  hissed,  with  reaching,  shaking  head, 

"  I  hate  you,  I  abhor  you  so  ! 

I  hate  as  only  woman  can. 

I  hate  your  sex,  your  shape,  and  O, 

I  almost  hate  my  God  to  know 

His  sex  and  form  is  that  of  man." 

At  last  she  rose,  all  tears,  but  he 

Had  gone.     He  sought  his  ship,  his  men, 


7  8  IN    THE    FOREST. 

And  as  he  hastened  through  the  wood, 

It  seemed  that  every  rock  and  tree 

Or  clump  of  undergrowth  had  been 

The  shelter  for-  some  savage  beast, 

That  through  the  twilight  roamed  or  stood. 

The  hairy  beast  or  hairy  priest, 

Or  many  hairy  beasts,  he  knew 

Not  truly  whence  or  what  they  were, 

Or  why  they  roamed  the  forest  through, 

Thick  clad  in  shaggy  coats  of  hair. 


IX. 

He  neared  his  ship  ;  the  night  came  on — 
The  night  to  sudden  sail,  and  he 
Had  set  his  men  at  post.     The  sea 
Lay  calm  and  luminous  as  dawn — 
There  lay  at  sea  the  strangest  light 
That  ever  fell  on  mortal  sight. 

"  You  shall  not  set  your  ship  to  sea," 

The  old  priest  sprang  up  angrily. 

The  men  came  down,  they  caught  the  priest, 

He  turned,  he  called  a  howling  beast. 


IN     THE    FOREST.  79 

"  Witchcraft !  witchcraft !  "  they  cried,  and  bound 
The  black  priest,  bound  him  foot  and  hand, 
And  cast  him  in  the  deep.     They  said, 
"  If  innocent,  why,  he  will  drown." 
These  pirates  were  as  bad,  almost, 
As  pilgrims  of  that  other  coast. 

The  sailors  watched  the  wave.     They  stood 

Expecting  he  would  rise  again. 

Three  bubbles  and  a  little  stain 

Along  the  black,  forbidding  flood, 

A  crimson  cenotaph  in  blood — 

Three  bubbles  as  from  falling  rain, 

And  all  was  dark  and  still  again. 

Strange  sounds  were  heard  along  the  flood 
Strange  sounds  that  seemed  to  chill  the  blood. 
Men  started  !     From  the  dense,  dark  wood 
A  thousand  beasts  came  peering  out, 
And  now  was  thrust  a  long,  black  snout, 
And  now  a  tusky  mouth.      It  was 
A  sight  that  made  the  stoutest  pause. 

And  now  a  red  mouth  in  the  air, 
Wide  open,  made  most  hideous  moan, 


80  IN     THE    FOREST. 

And  now  a  howl  and  now  a  groan, 
And  now  a  wild  wail  of  despair. 
Then  as  men  looked,  behold,  those  beasts 
Had  faces  like  that  hairy  priest's. 


"  The  land  is  cursed  !  "  strong  Doughal  cried  ; 
"  Cut  loose  my  ship  !     I  take  the  sea; 
The  roomy,  lawless  seas  for  me, 
And  dear  Adora  for  my  bride. 
Cast  loose  my  ship;  I  know  that  she 
Will  come,  proud  girl,  to  love  and  me." 
He  turned  his  face  to  sea.     It  lay 
As  light  as  ever  middle  day. 


X. 


Men  said  that  fires  up  the  coast, 
And  down  the  coast  in  copse  and  fen, 
Had  pushed  the  beasts  from  gorge  and  den, 
And  sudden  turned  the  hairy  host 
A  maddened  million,  on  the  men. 
I  know  not  if  the  guess  were  true, 


IN     THE    FOREST.  81 

I  doubt  me  if  men  ever  knew. 
But  such  a  howling,  flame-lit  shore, 
ISTo  mortal  ever  saw  before. 

Strange  beasts  above  the  shining  sea, 
Wild,  hideous  beasts  in  shaggy  hair, 
Withrgd  mouths  lifting  in  the  air, 
Stood  fifty  deep,  and  plaintively 
They  howled  and  howled  across  the  sea; 
I  think  it  was  the  wierdest  sight 
That  ever  saw  the  blessed  light. 

All  time  they  howled,  with  lifted  head, 
To  dim  and  distant  isle  that  lay 
Wedged  tight  along  a  line  of  red, 
Caught  in  the  closing  gates  of  day 
'Twixt  sky  and  sea  and  far  away — 
It  was  the  saddest  sound  to  hear 
That  ever  struck  on  mortal  ear. 

They  ever  called;  and  answered  they 
The  great  sea  cows  that  called  from  isle 
Away  a  weary  watery  mile, 
With  dripping  mouth  and  lolling  tongue, 

As  if  they  called  for  captured  young — 
6 


82  IN    THE    FOREST. 

Their  great  mouths  mouthing  green  sea  moss 
The  while  they  doleful  called  across 
From  isle  away  a  watery  mile. 
No  sound  can  half  so  doleful  be 
As  sea  cows  calling  from  the  sea. 

The  drowned  sun  sank  and  died.     He  lay 
In  seas  of  blood.     He  sinking  drew 
The  gates  of  heaven  sudden  to. 
Yet  long,  strong  ribbons  stretched  away 
As  if  the  gate  still  jarred  agape — 
Tied  back  by  ribbons  and  red  tape. 


XI. 


The  long,  gray  moss  swung  grim  and  drear. 

The  leaves  lay  yellow  crisp  and  sere. 

Long  ancient  boughs  lay  inter-cross 

All  tangled  in  one  mesh  of  moss. 

The  keepers  of  the  forest  fled, 

The  red  man  prisoned,  banished,  dead, 

No  cautious,  constant  hunter  stood 

To  guard  with  guarded  flame  the  wood, 

And  with  his  annual  bonfire  clear 


IN     THE    FOREST.  83 

The  gathered  mosses  of  the  year. 

But  all  lay  one  entangled  mass 

So  matted  scarce  the  beast  could  pass. 

'Twas  burning  autumn  time.     The  mill 

Was  swathed  with  long  gray  swinging  moss : 

Broad  reaching  boughs  in  gold  andjred 

Did  clash  and  inter-clang  across 

Like  swords  of  fire  swung  overhead. 

The  nuts  fell  ripe  upon  the  hill 

Where  quails  were  piping  sharp  and  shrill. 

At  dusk  the  wrinkled,  ghostly  crone 
Dashed  suddenly  from  out  the  wood 
And  close  beside  black  Mungo  stood. 
She  reached  her  arms,  held  up  her  head 
As  if  the  princess  of  a  throne, 
And  so,  demanded  from  his  hand 
Some  sign  of  tribute  for  her  land, 
If  but  the  smallest  crumb  of  bread. 

Black  Mungo  bit  his  nether  lip 

Then  sullenly  he  shook  his  head, 

Then  sudden  stooped  and  clutched  a  stone. 

He  called  his  dog  from  out  the  ship, 


84  IN     THE    FOREST. 

He  snapped  his  fingers,  let  him  slip, 
And  bade  him  take  her,  as  she  fled. 
She  turned,  she  struck  the  mastiff  dead. 
Then  lifting  high,  defiant  hands 
That  shone  with  gleaming,  golden  bands 
She  stretched  her  arms  in  mighty  moan  ; 
She  hew'd  the  air  above  her  head 
And  wailing  still,  she  turned  and  fled. 

The  tall  trees  blossomed  into  stars. 
The  moon  climbed  slowly  up  the  cone, 
She  sat  an  empress  on  her  throne. 
Her  silver  beams  fell  down  in  bars 
Between  the  mighty,  mossy  trees — 
Grand,  kingly  comrades  of  the  wood, 
That  shoulder  unto  shoulder  stood 
With  friendships  knit  through  centuries. 

The  night  came,  moving  in  dim  flame, 

As  lighted  by  round  autumn  sun 

Descending  through  the  hazy  blue. 

It  were  a  gold  and  amber  hue 

And  all  hues  blended  into  one. 

The  moon  spilled  fire  where  she  came 

And  filled  the  yellow  wood  with  flame. 


IN    THE    FOREST.  85 

The  moon  slid  down,  and  leaning  low, 
The  far  sea  isles  were  all  aglow. 
She  fell  along  the  ainber  flood 
An  isle  of  flame  in  seas  of  blood. 
It  was  the  strangest  moon,  ah  me  ! 
That  ever  settled  on  that  sea. 

Adora  stood  within  her  door, 

She  heard  the  anchor  clank  a  chain, 

As  one  that  moaned  in  very  pain. 

The  crone  crouched,  crooning  as  before, 

She  screamed,  and  then  was  seen  no  more. 

It  was  the  wierdest  eve,  I  ween 

That  man  or  maid  has  ever  seen. 

Black  Mungo  smoked  his  pipe  and  kept 

His  deck  with  pike  and  gun  at  hand. 

A  mastiff  waiting  his  command 

Coiled  up  and  watching,  waked  and  slept. 

The  very  dog  drew  in  his  breath, 

As  if  he  snuffed  the  scent  of  death. 

Black  Mungo  turned.     A  grizzly  beast, 
With  glaring  eyes  so  like  the  priest, 
Rushed  out  along  the  west-most  wood, 


86  IN     THE    FOREST. 

And  snuffed  his  hot  breath  from  the  flood. 
The  water  was  as  still  as  death, 
The  very  heaven  held  its  breath. 

The  woodmen  sat  subdued  and  grave 
Beside  the  wide  and  soundless  wave. 
And  then  a  half -blind  bitch  that  sat 
All  slobber-mouthed  and  monkish  cowled 
With  great  broad  floppy  leathern  ears, 
Amid  the  men,  sprang  up  and  howled, 
And  doleful  howled  her  plaintive  fears, 
And  all  looked  mute  amaze  thereat. 
It  was  the  damn'dest  eve,  I  think, 
That  ever  hung  on  Hades'  brink. 

Then  broad-winged  bats  possessed  the  air, 
Went  whirling  blindly  everywhere. 
It  was  such  a  still,  wierd,  twilight  eve, 
As  never  mortal  would  believe. 

"Will  she  not  come  ?"  strong  Doughal  cried 
In  terror  from  his  tall  ship's  side. 
"  The  air  hangs  hot,  the  beasts  howl  fierce, 
There  hangs  a  haze  no  eye  can  pierce  ! " 


IN    THE    FOREST.  87 

"And  Doughal  will  not  come  to  me. 
His  ship  is  rounding  to  the  sea," 
She  said,  with  bowed  and  shaking  head, 
And  shook  her  long,  disheveled  hair, 
And  clasped  her  helpless  hands  in  prayer. 

A  panther's  scream  ?  or  woman's  screech  ? 
Or  fiend  of  hell  encompassed  there  ? 
It  was  the  wildest,  wierdest  yell 
That  ever  yet  from  mortal  fell. 

It  rolled  like  death-knell  through  the  air, 
It  echoed  through  the  woods  and  ran 
From  forests  deep  to  open  beach, 
And  wrhere  they  sat  each  silent  man 
Leapt  up,  and  as  transfixed  in  place, 
Stood  staring  in  his  fellow's  face. 

A  woman's  screech  !  a  panther  scream: 
A  wild  hag  howling  as  she  fled 
With  bony  hands  above  her  head 
Beyond  the  broad  and  wooded  stream  ! 

It  ceased  !     Then  all  things  fell  so  still, 
Men  heard  the  black  hearth  cricket  trill. 


88  IN    THE    FOREST. 

Then  suddenly  the  silent  wood 
Was  sounding  like  a  broken  flood. 
And  far  adown  some  dark  smoke  curled 
As  if  from  out  an  under- world. 

Slim  snakes  slid  quick  from  out  the  grass, 
From  wood,  from  fen,  from  everywhere  : 
As  if  they  sped  pursuing  her  : 
They  slid  a  thousand  snakes,  and  then, 
You  could  not  step,  you  would  not  pass, 
And  you  would  hesitate  to  stir 
Least  in  some  sudden,  hurried  tread, 
Your  foot  struck  some  unbruised  head. 
It  was  so  weird,  it  seemed  withal, 
The  very  grass  began  to  crawl. 

They  slid  in  streams  into  the  stream, 
They  rustled  leaves  along  the  wood, 
They  hissed  and  rattled  as  they  ran 
As  if  in  mockery  of  man. 
It  seemed  like  some  infernal  dream  : 
It  seemed  as  they  would  fill  the  flood. 

They  curved,  and  graceful  curved  across, 
Like  deep  and  waving  sea-green  moss — 


IN     THE    FOREST.  89 

There  is  no  art  of  man  can  make 
A  ripple  like  a  running  snake. 


The  wild  beasts  leapt  from  out  the  wood  ; 
They  rent  the  forest  as  they  fled, 
They  plunged  into  the  foaming  flood 
And  swam  with  wild,  exalted  head. 


It  seemed  as  if  some  mighty  hand 
Had  sudden  loosened  all  command. 
They  howled  as  if  the  hand  of  God 
Pursued  and  scourged  them  with  a  rod. 

The  black  smoke  mantled  flood  and  wood, 

Where  Doughal  mute  and  helpless  stood. 

He  lifted  not  his  face  or  spoke. 

He  felt  as  if  her  curse  had  broke 

In  justice  on  his  guilty  head, 

And  he  was  as  a  man  that's  dead.     .     ,     . 

He  prays  not,  makes  command,  nor  stirs, 

He  bows  beneath  this  curse  of  hers. 

Yet  he  would  die  for  sign  or  trace 

Of  that  loved  woman's  lifted  face. 


90  IN     THE    FOREST. 

A  rift  of  wind  !     The  smoke  rolls  by  ! 
He  sees  a  form,  he  hears  a  cry, 
And  two  hands  stretch  above  the  flood 
From  out  the  frowning,  flaming  wood. 

"  Come  back,  my  Doughal !     Come  to  me  ! 
O,  leave  me  not  to  death  and  shame  ! 
O,  I  will  dare  the  utmost  sea, 
Yea,  dare,  defy  this  sea  of  flame, 
With  you,  could  I  but  only  know 
You  loved,  nor  sought  my  overthrow. 
I  can  but  call,  this  once  more  call — 
The  flames  consume  me."     Like  a  pall 
The  black  smoke  mantled  :  yet  his  name 
Seemed  calling  through  the  leaping  flame. 

He  started,  sprung,  as  if  to  land 
From  ship  to  flame.     A  black,  hard  hand 
Thrust  out,  and  with  a  giant's  strength 
It  threw  him  back  on  deck  full  length. 
"  And  would  you  leave  your  men  to  die  ?" 
Black  Mungo  cried,  with  flashing  eye. 
"  The  land  is  cursed,  and  cursed  that  maid  ! 
Your  men  shrink  trembling  and  afraid. 


IN     THE    FOREST.  91 

Come!  be  their  Moses,  lead  them  through 
The  terrors  that  you  brought  them  to." 

Then  bent  Black  Mungo  ceased  to  rail ; 

He  caught  an  axe,  the  cable  fell ; 

The  winds  took  up  an  empty  sail; 

The  ship  swung  loosely  round  ;  the  swell 

Of  ebbing  current  slowly  bore 

The  crowded  ship  from  off  the  shore. 

He  sprang,  he  caught  the  helm,  and  he 
Stood  grimly  out  towards  the  sea. 
For  utmost  seas,  unnamed,  unknown, 
Black  Mungo  steered  mid  beasts  alone. 
Yet  seeing  him  you  well  might  think 
He  was  the  very  missing  link. 

A  grizzly  monster  sat  the  poop, 
A  panther  held  the  chicken-coop 
The  hold  had  wombats  by  the  score, 
A  she-bear  sat  at  his  right  hand, 
While  at  his  feet  an  hundred  more 
Seemed  calmly  waiting  his  command. 
And  with  this  motley  company 
He  grimly  steered  toward  the  sea. 


92  IN     THE    FOREST. 

A  bat  kept  creeping  up  his  sleeve, 
A  spider  then  began  to  weave 
A  little  web  of  rope  and  sail, 
As  if  to  help  to  catch  the  gale. 
And  with  this  screeching  company 
He  slowly  drifted  tow'rd  the  sea. 

He  held  the  helm  right  true.     He  steered 
Between  the  burning  walls  of  wood 
Adown  the  broad  and  burning  flood. 
His  brawn  and  hairy  arms  were  bare. 
A  rat  kept  creeping  through  his  hair, 
And  pink-eyed  mice  peered  from  his  beard. 
His  teeth  were  set,  for  now  he  knew 
That  he  with  this  same  motley  crew, 
Somewhere  upon  the  lonesome  sea 
Must  sail  and  sail  eternally. 

The  great  sea-cows  from  out  their  isle, 
The   while  they  mouthed  full  mouths  of  moss, 
Looked  up,  and  as  he  sailed  across 
They  called  and  called  a  weary  while. 


IN    THE    FOREST.  93 


XII. 

The  flames  leapt  like  some  winged  steed 
When  furies  ride  in  tempest  flight, 
They  leapt  from  tossing  top  and  height 
Of  rosin  pine  to  fragrant  fir — 
They  seemed  to  lose  themselves,  to  whir 
Like  sportive  birds  and  in  their  speed 
Leap  on  in  long  advance  and  dart 
Red  lances  through  the  forest's  heart. 

The  birds  rose  dense,  a  feathered  cloud, 
And  flew  with  croakings  lorn  and  loud, 
With  drooping,  weary  wings  and  slow 
And  blew  toward  the  cone  of  snow. 
The  fierce  flame  saw  them,  and  he  came, 
A  sounding  full  red  sea  of  flame. 

The  winds  came  like  some  great,  third  wave 
Across  the  tossing  tops  of  fire. 
The  flame  leapt  high,  then  high,  then  higher- 
He  sounded  like  some  hollowed  cave. 
Like  battle  steed,  all  undismayed, 
He  leapt  like  some  mad  steed.     He  neighed. 


94  IN     THE    FOREST. 

He  laughed  at  clouds  of  birds.     He  laid 
The  forest  level  where  he  came, 
He  fanned  the  very  stars  to  flame. 

He  then  drew  back,  then  neighed  aloud, 
Then  drew  a  breath  that  made  a  cloud, 
Then  breathed,  then  saw  the  birds  once  more, 
Then  leapt  more  furious  than  before 
And  when  he  now  careering  came 
That  cloud  of  feathers  was  a  flame. 


XIII. 

And  still  she  trusted  he  would  come  ; 
Still  stood  with  hands  clasped  sad  and  dumb, 
All  patient  in  her  trust  and  hope. 
But  when  she  saw  the  strong  ship  ride 
Through  smoke  and  flame  along  the  tide, 
And  heard  the  clank  of  chain  and  rope, 
Her  love  gave  place  to  rage  once  more 
And  wild  she  called  along  the  shore. 

Then  like  a  startled  deer  she  stood  ! 
Her  high  head  lifted,  and  her  hair 


IN     THE    FOREST.  95 

Blew  wild  and  stormy.     Strong  and  bare 
Her  two  arms  stretched  across  the  flood. 
Her  foot  struck  hard  the  solid  land, 
Her  face  looked  fury  and  command. 
The  while  the  hag  crept  from  the  tide, 
And  cat-like  crouched  close  at  her  side. 

"  Betrayed  !  betrayed,  and  only  you 
My  tawny,  wrinkled  creature,  true." 
The  wrinkled  hag  with  grinning  face 
Then  drew  her  slim  bark  from  its  place, 
And  bade  her  enter  in  and  fly 
With  her  beyond  the  flames,  or  die. 

Curs'd  Dough  al  kept  his  deck  and  cried 

For  her  aloud.     His  wild  words  died 

Amid  the  awful  din.     She  knew 

Kot  any  heart  or  hand  so  true 

As  this  last  relic  of  her  race, 

Who  bore  her  fainting  from  the  place, 

And  laid  her  in  her  slim  canoe. 

Black  Mungo  strode  his  deck  and  swore, 
With  pike  and  pistol  clutched  in  hand, 
As  seamen  never  swore  before. 


96  IN     THE    FOREST. 

He  saw  the  hag's  bark  pass  hard  by, 
He  heard  Adora's  fainting  cry. 
He  saw,  but  could  not  understand, 
The  wrack  that  rent  on  every  hand. 
"  That  horrid  hag  1  "  he  cursing  cried, 
And  sent  a  bullet  in  her  side. 

Yet  still  she  rowed  against  the  flood, 
And  as  she  leaned  a  stream  of  blood 
Fell  from  her  side  into  the  tide. 
And  all  the  while  Adora  lay 
As  some  dead  body  borne  away. 


XIV. 

It  was  a  sight !  her  long,  black  hair 
Drawn  darkly  through  the  waters  there. 
The  while  the  hag  struck  up  the  stream 
Like  some  black  demon  in  a  dream. 
Yet  all  the  dark,  descending  flood 
Bore  by  a  current  of  red  blood — 
No  sight  does  half  so  horrid  seem 
As  warm  blood  streaming  down  a  stream. 


IN     THE    FOREST.  97 

The  hag  struck  up  the  stream  with  main, 
The  men  struck  down  toward  the  sea. 
Black  Mungo  strode  the  deck,  and  he 
Implored  his  men  stand  fast  again, 
Steer  safe  the  sable  ship  from  shore, 
And  keep  the  decks  with  him  once  more. 

"  God  !  help  !  the  world  is  all  on  fire ! 
The  winds  come  driving  from  the  sea. 
The  long  flames  leap  up  higher,  higher — 
The  flames  are  leaping  angrily, 
From  lowly  leaf  to  lofty  tree. 

"  The  tide  is  full  of  living  things, 
The  beasts  are  on  my  deck,  the  wings 
Of  birds  are  smiting  rope  and  mast. 
The  panthers  keep  the  quarter  deck, 
The  wood-rats  climb  the  ropes  and  fleck 
The  shrouds.     God  !  were  we  free  at  last, 
This  were  a  motley  crew  with  me, 
Indeed,  to  sail  the  pirate's  sea!" 

They  sailed  below  the  gleaming  light ; 
The  sombre  waters  rolled  as  bright 

As  sleeping  Venice  in  the  morn. 

7 


98  IN     THE    FOREST. 

They  sailed  right  slow.     The  flames  at  length 
On  either  hand  had  spent  their  strength, 
And  lay  like  some  ripe  field  of  corn. 
Yet  all  night  long  came  down  the  flood 
That  horrid  sinuous  seam  of  blood. 

The  beasts  stood  flooded  to  the  eyes 
And  saw  them  pass  in  dumb  surprise. 
All  night  they  drifted  down  the  flood — 
All  night  a  long  bent  seam  of  blood. 

All  night  !  there  was  no  night.     ISTay,  nay, 
There  was  no  night.     The  night  that  lay 
Between  that  awful  eve  and  day  — 
That  nameless  night  was  burned  away. 

But  yesterday  the  hush  and  shade. 
To-day  the  broad  and  burning  plain, 
Lies  waiting  welcome  seed  and  rain. 
And  thus  the  plasting  worlds  are  made. 
Yet  still  they  sailed,  and  down  the  flood 
Still  came  that  sinuous  seam  of  blood. 


IN    THE    FOREST.  99 


XV. 

A  red  hand  led  from  reedy  sedge 
That  girt  a  dark,  still  island's  edge — 
A  red  hand,  red  from  blood,  from  flame, 
Led  bowed  Adora  where  she  came. 
She  drew  her  hurried  to  the  shore, 
And  bleeding  still,  low  reaching  o'er, 
She,  dying,  led  to  wood  so  deep 
That  only  night  and  shadows  keep 
Companionship  for  evermore. 

The  rej.  flames  from  the  further  shore 
Shot  brightly  shining  where  they  stood, 
Across  the  lurid,  flowing  flood, 
And  struck  a  gleaming,  golden  store 
Of  heaped-up  treasures  that  were  known 
To  this  poor,  bleeding  wretch  alone. 
"  Your  father's  gold  ! "  the  wild  hag  cried  ; 
Her  high  hand  fell — and  so  she  died. 

Transfixed  Adora  stood  as  stone. 

She  now  was  lone  as  God,  as  lone 

As  Eve,  ere  yet  the  iron  hand 

Of  man  had  stretched  forth  in  command. 


ioo 


IN    THE    FOREST. 


And  she  was  iron  now,  or  stone, 
Or  steel,  or  brass,  or  sodden  lead, 
Or  anything  that  you  might  name 
That  heeds  not  love,  nor  pride  or  shame, 
Or  hope  of  love,  or  honor  dead. 

She  laughed  a  little.     Hard  and  cold 
The  sounds  fell  as  a  funeral  knell. 
She  saw  the  woman  where  she  fell, 
She  saw  the  great,  high  heap  of  gold 
Gleam  on  her  like  a  rising  sun. 
She  spurned  it  with  her  foot  as  one 
Disdaining  wealth.     This  beggar  child 
Curled  up  her  lip  and  laughed  aloud, 
Laughed  like  a  maniac,  sharp  and  wild  ; 
Then  snapped  her  fingers  in  the  air, 
Threw  back  her  black,  abundant  hair, 
That  mantled  like  a  midnight  cloud, 
And  made  resolve  —  that  moment  made 
Resolve  of  action.     She  betrayed 
No  tremor,  not  a  touch  of  fear. 
No  pulse  of  terror,  or  hot  tear. 

She  stooped,  and  in  her  arms  she  bore 
The  stark  dead  woman  to  the  shore. 


IN    THE    FOREST. 


101 


She  laid  her  decent  in  her  bark 

Below  the  bent  boughs  burned  and  dark, 

And  plucked  white  lilies  of  the  sea 

And  tiger  lilies  of  the  land. 

Then  with  a  daughter's  sympathy, 

And  with  a  sister's  tender  hand 

She  hid  her  face  in  leaves,  and  gave, 

In  Indian  custom  of  the  land, 

Sad  sepulture  upon  the  wave. 

She,  down  the  strong,  reversing  tide, 
Strewed  lilies  for  the  ocean  wide, 
And  left  her  with  her  slim  canoe. 
Then  as  the  loosened  boat  withdrew, 
She  cried  aloud, 

"Now  shall  I  be 
A  Baroness  indeed  !     For  me 
The  peopled  cities  now,  the  land 
Of  action,  conquest  and  command. 
And  who  that  lives  shall  question  me, 
Save  he  that  sails  on  yonder  sea  ?" 


PART  II. 
ON    FIFTH     AVENUE. 


Tliou  calm  contradiction  !    Thou  mystery  ! 
Thou  brave  cosmopolite;  city  at  sea, 
Where  beggars  squander,  and  where  princes  hoard! 
Thou  mute  confusion  !     Thou  babel  of  tongue  ! 
Thou  poem  in  stones!     Thou  song  unsung ! 
Thou  growth  of  a  night ;  tJiou  Jonahs  gourd! 
Thou  fair-girdled  mistress!  The  black-bellied  ships 
From  Orient  gates  gather  sweets  for  thy  lips. 
Thy  tall  handmaidens  from  the  West  rise  up 
And  they  bring  tliee  wine  in  tlieir  golden  cup. 


0  beautiful,  long,  loved  Avenue  ! 
So  faithless  to  truth,  and  yet  so  true! 
Thou  camp  in  battle  with  the  shouts  in  air, 
The  neighing  of  steeds  and  the  trumpet's  blare! 
Thou  iron-faced  sphynx  ;  thy  steadfast  eyes 
Encompass  all  seas.     Thy  hands  likewise 
Lay  hold  on  the  peaks.     The  land  and  the  sea 
Make  tribute  alike,  and  the  mystery 
Of  Time  it  is  thine.     .     .     .     Say,  what  art  tfwu 
But  the  scroll  of  the  Past  rolled  into  the  Now  f 


O,  throbbing  and  pulsing  proud  Avenue! 

Thou  generous  robber!  Thou  more  than  Tyre! 

Thou  mistress  of  pirates!  Thou  heart  of  fire! 

Thou  heart  of  the  world's  heart,  pulsing  to 

The  bald,  white  poles.     So  old  ;  so  new. 

So  nude,  yet  garmented  past  desire. 

Thou  tall,  splendid  woman,  I  bend  to  tJiee; 

Hove  thy  majesty,  mystery ; 

Thy  touches  of  sanctity,  touches  of  taint, 

So  grand  as  a  sinner,  so  good  as  a  saint. 


PRELUDE. 

k 

AVENUE,  dear  as  an  afternoon  dream  ! 

O  Avenue,  endless  as  some  far  beam 
From  ocean-tossed  Argus  shot  shoreward  at  night ! 
O  fair  as  a  garden  made  more  than  fair 
With  long  walks  of  lovers  in  calm  delight ! 
O  wild  as  a  woman  with  long,  loosened  hair  ! 

0  strong  and  willful  as  the  strange  gulf  stream, 
That  floweth  and  goeth  we  know  not  where, 

1  exult  in  thy  beauty  as  a  lover  might 
Exult  in  his  bride  on  her  bridal  night. 

Thou  heaven  of  lights !     I  stood  at  night 

Far  down  by  a  spire  where  the  stars  shot  through, 

Where  commerce  throbs  strong  as  a  burly  sea  swell, 

And  searched  the  North  Star.     O  Avenue  ! 

If  the  road  up  to  God  were  thy  long  lane  of  light ! — 

I  lifted  my  face,  looking  upward  and  far 

By  the  path  of  the  Bear,  underneath-the  North  Star, 


106  PRELUDE 

• 

^Beyond  the  gaslights  where  the  falling  stars  spin, 
And  lo !  no  man  can  tell,  guess  he  never  so  well, 
Where  thy  gaslights  leave  off  or  the  starlights  begin. 

O,  Avenue,  splendid  Fifth  Avenue  ! 

Thou  world  in  thyself  !     Thou  more  than  Rome,       * 

When  Rome  sat  throned  and  pre-eminent  ! 

Thy  spires  prick  stars  in  the  moon-bound  blue 

And  stand  mile-stones  on  the  high  road  home. 

I  behold  thy  strength  like  a  stream's  descent 

When  it  flows  to  the  sea  filled  full  to  the  foam: 

My  soul  it  expands  as  an  incense  curled, 

And  proud  as  a  patriot  I  point  the  world 

To  thy  achievement  and  to  thine  intent. 

Dear  and  delicious,  loved  Avenue  ! 

I  have  had  my  day  in  the  Bois  de  Bologne, 

I  have  stood  very  near  the  first  steps  of  a  throne, 

I  have  roamed  all  cities  of  splendor  through, 

I  have  masked  on  the  Corso  ;  and  many  bright  nights, 

I  have  dashed  Rusk  bells  down  a  lane  of  delights  ; 

On  gay  Rotten  Row  I  have  galloped  the  rounds, 

And,  too,  have  made  one  of  a  long  line  of  hounds, 

But  nothing  'neath  sun  or  tide-guiding  moon 

Approaches  thine  populous  afternoon. 


FIRST  CITIZEN  OF  NEW  YORK. — But  is  the  lady  virtuous  f 
SECOND  CITIZEN  OF  NEW  YORK. —  Virtuous!    Sir!   s7ie  is 
more  than  virtuous  ;  she  is  even  plain. 


O  IR  Francis  had  come,  the  fairest  of  men. 

At  least  the  ladies  pronounced  him  fair, 
But  none  knew  whence  he  had  come,  or  when; 
And  the  cautious  banker  had  said,  "  beware," 
And  a  cunning  rival  had  said,  "take  care," 
And  had  spread  suspicion  everywhere. 

"And  who  can  he  be  ?"  the  banker  cried, 
"  Sir  Francis  Jain,"  his  daughter  replied. 
"  Sir  Francis  Jain  !     Aye,  that  is  plain, 
But  who  the  devil's  Sir  Francis  Jain  ?  " 

And  no  man  knew  him.     Men  only  knew 
He  strode  direct,  like  a  lion,  through 
The  little  mouse-traps  that  society  set 
To  cage  the  yellow-maned  lion  in, 


io8  ON    FIFTH    AVENUE. 

And  kept  on  silent  through  all  their  din, 
And  sad,  as  of  grief  he  might  not  forget. 
He  was  careless  of  honors  and  careless  of  rank  ; 
Quite  careless  of  all  the  world  was  he ; 
Careless  of  gold  in  heaps  in  the  bank, 
Heedless,  indeed,  of  the  golden  key 
That  opened  all  doors  of  the  Avenue, 
To  welcome  this  new-named  lion  through. 

And  why  so  careless,  and  why  so  cold  ? 
Surely  the  man  had  love  and  to  spare, 
Surely  the  man  had  titles  and  gold, 
Honor  at  home  and  everywhere  ! 

Why  so  heedless  of  honors,  he  ? 
Why  so  careless  of  the  golden  key 
That  opened  the  doors  of  the  Avenue 
And  led  the  yellow-maned  lion  through, 
Where  many  a  languid  maiden's  eyes 
Glanced  suggestions,  and  hopes  and  sighs  ? 

The  man  had  all  that  a  man  might  gain, 
In  a  life's  endeavor  of  strife  and  pain  ; 
Honor  of  women  and  envy  of  men, 
Grace  of  manner,  of  speech,  and  then, 
That  dash  of  audacity  in  his  air, 


ON    FIFTH    AVENUE.  109 

That  vanquishes  failure  anywhere, 
And  crowns  men  kings.     Alas  !  Alas  ! 
Men  only  count  what  their  fellow  has ; 
They  count  his  gains,  but  never  the  cost 
Of  the  jewel,  love,  that  he  may  have  lost. 


n. 


The  season  passed  and  the  hero  passed, 
Passed  as  hundreds  before  had  done, 
Melted  away  in  the  summer  sun, 
Like  fairy  frost  from  your  window  slant 
Where  palace  and  castle  and  camp  are  cast 
But  a  night,  for  the  fairy  inhabitant. 

The  season  came,  and  he  came  again  ; 
Again  in  the  season  he  galloped  through 
The  populous  lane  of  the  Avenue: 
Tossing  his  head  and  toying  the  mane, 
Galloped  the  lion,  Sir  Francis  Jain. 

His  strong,  black  steed  on  his  haunches  thrown, 
Struck  hard  and  plunged  on  the  clanging  stone, 
And  threw  white  foam  in  the  air,  and  beat 


no  ON    FIFTH    AVENUE. 

The  upward  air  with  his  iron  feet 

Where  the  Baroness  came.     Her  marvelous  eyes 

Were  wide  with  wonder  and  a  sweet  surprise. 

And  then  they  fell,  and  the  lashes  lay 

Like  dark  silk  fringes  to  hide  them  away  ; 

And  her  face  fell  down  to  her  heaving  breast, 

And  silent  Sir  Francis  half  guessed  the  rest. 

The  man  bowed  low.     Then  over  his  face 
There  flashed  and  flooded  some  sudden  trace 
Of  mad  emotion.     Quick  it  passed 
As  lightning,  threading  a  thunder-blast. 
He  lifted  his  hat,  turned,  bowed  again, 
Toyed  a  time  with  the  tossing  mane, 
Threaded  his  fingers  quite  careless  through 
The  curving,  waving,  silken  skein, 
Leaned  him  forward,  loosened  the  rein, 
Looked  leisurely  up  the  Avenue  ; 
Then  smiling  on  all  with  a  cold  disdain, 
Forward  galloped  Sir  Francis  Jain. 

"  I  will  give  yon  house,"  said  the  butterman's  son, 
Jerking  his  thumb,  as  the  boor  was  wont, 
Back  over  his  shoulder,  at  a  brown-stone  front, 
"  I  will  give  yon  house  to  anyone 


ON    FIFTH    AVENUE.  in 

That  tells  me  who  this  man  may  be. 

To  you,  my  lawyer,  old  friend,"  said  he, 

"I  will  give  a  job  indeed  that  will  pay— 

A  job  that  will  pay,  the  very  day 

You  place  in  my  hand  the  thread  to  the  rein 

That  will  bridle  this  fellow,  Sir  Francis  Jain." 

Quick,  plucking  the  butterman's  son  aside, 
Then  throwing  his  cane  over  shoulder  and  back, 
As  the  man  disappeared  up  the  populous  track: — 
"He  rides  like  the  devil ! "  the  lawyer  replied, 
"  But  listen  to  me.     Hist !  step  this  way, 
I  am  your  man,  sir,  to  make  it  pay. 
I  have  a  secret,  and  I  hold  the  rein 
To  bridle  your  rival,  Sir  Francis  Jain  ! " 

And  he  plucked  the  man  by  the  broadcloth  sleeve 
As  he  led  him  aside  in  the  dusky  eve. 
Then  standing  aside  from  the  populous  place, 
The  friend  looked  friend  right  square  in  the  face. 
And  the  lawyer  spoke  cautious  and  wagged  his  head, 
And  winked  at  every  slow  word  he  said. 

"  He  rides  like  the  devil.     But  this  is  plain, 
And  men  have  marked  it  again  and  again — 


ii2  ON    FIFTH    AVENUE. 

He  walks  as  if  he  dragged  a  chain  ! 

And  that  is  your  cue  !     Sir  Francis  Jain 

Is  a  convict  of  Sidney,  and  has  worn  a  chain  ! " 

The  two  knaves  parted  ;  each  went  on  his  way, 
In  their  vulgar  parlance,  fc  to  make  it  pay." 
While  careless  and  dauntless  the  rider  dashed  on, 
Till  he  plunged  in  the  depths  of  the  Park  and  was 
gone. 


III. 


I  like  the  tortuous  paths  of  Central  Park, 
Like  great,  big  autographs  writ  in  grass. 
Here  Pat,  indeed,  has  set  his  honest  mark — 
"Whate'er  his  boss,  the  great,  big  William  has. 
I  like  that  spacious  Park,  so  dark  at  night, 
The  lover's  pride,  the  tranquil  tramp's  delight. 

Unwatched  it  lies,  and  open  as  the  sun 
When  God  swings  wide  the  dark  doors  of  the  East. 
O,  keep  one  spot  of  your  pent  isle,  still  one, 
Where  tramp  or  banker,  layman  or  high  priest, 


ON    FIFTH    AVENUE.  113 

•+ 

Meet  equals,  all  before  the  face  of  God. 
Yea,  equals  stand  upon  that  common  sod 
One  day,  where  they  shall  equals  be 
Beneath,  for  aye,  and  all  eternity. 

It  lies  a  little  island  quite  above  the  tide 
Of  commerce,  high  above  high-water  mark  ; 
Go  ye,  my  tramps  and  shoddies,  and  abide 
Your  little  hour,  equals  in  the  park. 

O  banker,  count  some  coins  for  charity  ! 
Put  down,  O  tramp,  that  bit  of  conscious  pride, 
That  you  have  more  of  out-door  air  than  he! 
You  both  are  good  to  fertilize  the  ground  ; 
You  count  about  the  same  when  the  cholera  comes 
around. 

0,  crooked,  crooked  paths  where  cautious  lovers  meet 
With  eyes  held  down.     O,  whither  tend 
Ye  paths  that  neither  do  begin  or  end  ? 
Forbidden  paths  that  seem  so  doubly  sweet, 
Say,  who  would  seek  at  all,  to  make  ye  straight  ? 
Say,  who  would  seek  to  find  the  narrow  gate 
To  enter  in,  when  all  the  park  lies  wide 
And  open  as  the  moon-believing  tide  ? 


H4  ON    FIFTH    AVENUE. 

Yea,  let  us  linger  in  this  park.     To  me 

It  hath  a  light  and  roominess.     The  air 

Stirs  woman-like  and  roving  as  the  sea. 

A  sense  of  freedom  thrills  my  soul,  made  free 

And  full  of  shoutings,  to  escape  the  glare 

Of  gas,  and  all  the  sound  of  brass 

And  many  tongues  the  gasping  city  has — 

The  hollow,  shoddy,  sickly  shows,  and  all 

The  lies  that  hide  behind  a  brown-stone  wall. 

'Tis  said  this  park  is  proud  Manhattan's  pride  ; 
It  is,  indeed,  a  most  capacious  park. 
It  looks  as  long  as  all  the  plains,  as  wide  ; 
That  is,  if  you  behold  it  in  the  dark. 

But  there  are  things  that  somehow  seem  to  me 
Almost  as  big  as  this,  as  worthy  boast, 
Along  that  far  and  unpretending  coast ; 
Things  in  that  far  West  quite  as  well  to  see. 
And,  come  to  think  of  it,  perhaps  'twere  best, 
My  proud  Manhattan,  that  you  do  now  go  West. 

Go  West,  and  see  the  world  you  levied  on 
Through  all  your  pompous  years  and  mocked,  mean 
while. 


ON    FIFTH    AVENUE.  115 

Go  West !  aye,  go  for  many  a  thousand  mile. 
Yea,  you  have  time  to  go.     Your  ships  are  gone. 
Your  great  sea  merchants  come  from  sea  no  more, 
Broad-souled  and  brave  of  heart.     The  little  store 
Of  gold  and  goods  your  daring  fathers  brought 
To  deck  and  crown  their  new  Venetian  shore, 
You  fell  to  gambling  for  like  knaves.     You  fought 
Among  yourselves  and  let  your  proud  ships  rot. 

Go  West.     Here  once,  with  high,  exalted  head 
You  sat  in  state  beside  your  white  sea  door. 
You  tenfold  tribute  laid  on  every  shred 
That  passed  you,  to  or  from  the  new-born,  poor, 
Dependent  West.        She  comes  to  you  no  more 
In  suppliance  now.     Behold  how  we  have  reared 
An  hundred  high-built  capitols.     Endeared 
Are  they  by  agonies  of  birth.    Aye,  true, 
Are  they,  with  that  vehement  truth  that  you 
In  cold  and  cautious  commerce  never  knew. 

Go  West !     Forget  thyself  and  look  upon 
The  middle  world  a  day.     This  far  sea  rim, 
Half -wrought,  at  best,  lies  broken,  cold  and  dim, 
As  ruins  with  the  fading  light  withdrawn. 
Go  West  for  aye.     For  there,  the  favored  few 


n6  ON    FIFTH    AVENUE. 

Of  you,  who  hope  to  win  the  world  of  bliss — 
Who  will  admit  there  is  a  better  world  than  this, 
Your  brown  stone  town  and  teeming  Avenue — 
"Will  be  that  much  the  nearer  it,  than  you 
Are  now.     Therefore,  indeed,  I  think  it  best 
That  you  go  West,  or  learn  to  know  the  West. 


IV. 


The  road  of  love  is  a  tortuous  road, 

Sudden  and  many  the  turns  for  all ; 

An  uphill  way,  with  a  weary  load, 

And  fatal,  indeed,  with  many  a  fall : 

And  giving,  at  best,  but  a  questionable  kiss. 

How  long  he  had  loved,  had  followed  her 

A  far  off  faithfulest  worshiper, 

Silent  and  earnest,  as  true  love  is, 

We  may  not  know;  but  we  find  the  two 

The  envied,  and  adored,  of  the  Avenue. 

Little  men  knew  of  him ;  still  less 

They  knew  of  the  dark-browed  Baroness, 

The  beautiful  stranger.     She  that  drew 


ON    FIFTH    AVENUE.  117 

The  veil  of  mystery  close,  and  dwelt 
Alone  in  splendor  at  night,  and  knelt 
Each  morn  at  the  cross ;  and  forever  kept 
Her  fair  face  humbled,  as  oner  that  wept, 
As  she  walked  at  eve  on  the  Avenue. 
Yet  busy  was  all  the  town  to  guess 
The  secrets  of  this  same  Baroness. 

Yea,  busy  was  fame  with  her  gold,  her  name, 
Her  great,  proud  house  on  the  Avenue  ; 
Her  horses  in  harness  of  gold  that  drew 
Her  lonesome  carriage  in  glory  through 
The  wondering  crowd  ;   her  maids  that  came 
And  spoke  no  tongue  that  any  man  knew  ; 
Her  marvelo,us  form,  her  midnight  of  hair, 
That  maddened  the  vulgar  millionaire, 
Who  guessed  that  his  ladder  of  gold  might  reach 
To  the  tallest  bough  or  the  fairest  peach. 

Sir  Francis  Jain  was  a  hero  true 

As  the  old-time  heroes.     But  never  yet 

Had  he  breathed  his  love.     Oft  had  they  met 

In  the  eddying  whirls  of  the  Avenue  ; 

And  oft  at  morn  on  her  way  to  prayer 

He  met  her,  passed  her,  hat  in  air. 


n8  ON    FIFTH    AVENUE. 

He  now  made  note,  as  they  met,  her  step 
Was  scarce  so  stately  ;  and  yet  she  kept 
Her  eyes  to  the  ground  as  she  passed  to  prayer, 
And  silent  and  signless  she  passed  him  there. 


'Twas  Popper's  reception.     Good  Mrs.  P. 

Puffed  and  inflated  herself  till  she 

Was  red  in  the  face  as  a  turkey  cock. 

She  strutted  and  fumed,  flew  hither  and  yon, 

Rattled  her  silks  and  ruffled  her  lace, 

Bawled  at  her  Mary  and  bullied  her  John  ; 

Then  flew  to  her  drawers  and  powdered  her  face, 

Then  smoothed  down  her  laces,  consulted  the  clock, 

And  calmly  awaited,  with  half-drooping  eyes, 

The  guest  she  should  welcome  with  studied  surprise. 

The  skies  were  serene  ;  not  a  cloud  in  the  blue. 
Yet  good  Mrs.  Popper  had  thoughtfully  set 
An  awning,  that  yawned  like  a  fisherman's  net, 
Far  over  the  pavement.     Now  this  had  been  done 


ON    FIFTH    AVENUE.  119 

With  no  other  sentiment  under  the  sun 
Than  the  fear  that  some  dear  gushing  guest  should  get 
wet. 

I  resent  the  suggestion  of  plebeian  curs, 

That  'twas  done  for  display.     Such  a  proud  soul  as 

hers 

Stoops  not  to  such  follies  as  that.     And  then,  who 
Could  think  such  a  thing  of  the  Ayenue  ? 

The  thoroughfare  flowed  like  a  strong,  surging  stream, 
A  figure,  mostlike,  we  have  called  in  before — 
Flowed  full  as  a  river  foam  full  to  the  shore, 
And  the  soft,  autumn  sun  fell  gorgeously  o'er 
The  long,  gleaming  lines  where  glitter  and  gleam 
The  black  crush  of  carriages,  far  flashing  back 
Their  wonder  of  wealth  from  the  broad,  endless  track  ; 
And  good  Mrs.  P.,  with  her  pump-handle  shake, 
Her  elegant  airs,  and  her  large,  florid  arms, 
Smiled  down  her  delight,  in  a  rainbow  of  charms. 

'Twas  a  gorgeous  affair,  as  all  such  things  are, 

On  the  Murray  Hill  end  of  the  Avenue. 

The  men  were  most  tall,  the  women  most  fair, 

In  powder  and  paint.     They  had  slate-penciled  hair, 


iso  ON    FIFTH    AVENUE. 

As  frizzled  and  frowsy,  almost,  to  the  view, 
As  a  pure  nigger  babies.    Yet,  for  all,  they  were  fair  ; 
For  all  their  weak  falsehoods  in  dress  and  in  air, 
They  were  fair  as  young  Junos.     Bright  gold  shone  in 

bar, 

And  diamonds  flashed  thick  as  the  meadow  sown  dew 
That  mirrors  the  gold  of  the  morn-minted  star. 

But  what  gave  a  special  attraction  to 

This  flashing  affair  of  the  Avenue 

Was  the  fact  that  Sir  Francis,  the  lion,  was  there. 

Sir  Francis,  the  yellow-maned  lion,  and,  too, 

The  Baroness,  belle  of  the  Avenue, 

And  the  love  and  delight  of  Sir  Francis  Jain. 

"And  who  is  Sir  Francis?"  a  rival  cried. 

"  Why,  Sir  Francis  Jain,"  a  lady  replied. 

"  Sir  Francis  Jain  !     The  Sir  Francis  Jain 

That  drags  his  foot  as  if  dragging  a  chain? " 

Now  whether  dame  Popper,  as  some  others  do, 
When  they  go  catching  lions  on  the  Avenue, 
Had  written  Sir  Francis  the  belle  would  be  there, 
And  dying  to  see  him.     Then,  with  the  same  pen, 
Ere  the  ink  was  well  dry  on  the  letter  just  done, 
Had  written  this  belle  that  this  bravest  of  men 


ON    FIFTH    AVENUE.  121 

\Vas  coining  to  meet  her,  I  cannot  declare. 
I  give  you  the  facts,  you  can  read  as  you  run. 
The  lover  was  there,  the  lady  was  there  ; 
And  Popper  was  proud,  as  the  lady  was  fair. 


VI. 


The  belle  ?    Let  me  see,  I  described  her  before — 

Not  so  ?     You  forget.     You  would  have  once  more 

The  chronicle  ;  have  me  tell  o'er  and  o'er 

Her  manifold  charms  ;  to  read  all  through 

The  book  of  her  excellence  ;  to  tell  anew 

The  beauty,  the  love,  and  the  charities  done 

By  this  wildest  yet  gentlest  soul  under  the  sun. 

You  would  have  it  all  o'er  again,  because 

•She  wa's  so  lovely  to  see,  and  was 

So  girt  in  majesty,  grace  ;  and,  oh  ! 

Because  sweet  heaven  did  pity  her  so. 

She  was  dark  as  Israel ;  proud  and  still 
As  the  Lebanon  trees  on  Palatine  hill. 
She  stood  as  a  lone  blown  palm  that  grew 
In  middle  desert  for  the  shelter  of  men 


122  ON    FIFTH    AVENUE. 

From  moving  sand  and  descending  flame. 
Her  name,  Adora.     Her  plain,  simple  name, 
Meant  nothing  at  alMmtil  after  you 
Had  seen  her  face,  her  presence,  and  then 
From  that  day  forth  it  had  form,  and  meant 
The  fairest  thing  under  the  firmament. 

Her  name  was  as  language,  and  when  men  knew 

No  word  in  all  tongues  to  give  utterance  to 

Their  grandest  conception  of  beauty,  she 

Stood  up  in  their  souls,  calm,  silently, 

And  filled  the  blank  with  her  simple  name. 

And  ever  at  mention  or  thought  of  her 

Men  grew  in  soul  as  a  growing  flame 

When  dying  embers  on  the  altar  stir 

In  the  priestess'  hands,  and  all  life  through 

They  lived  the  nobler  for  the  love  they  knew. 

Her  history  !     Kay,  there  was  nought  of  it, 
So  far  as  men  knew,  save  that  which  was  writ 
On  her  marvelous  face.     She  had  dwelt  with  woe, 
She  had  walked  in  shadows  so  long,  so  far, 
They  lay  on  her  breast  like  an  iron  bar. 
The  dark  of  trouble  hung  over  her  hair 
Like  a  widow's  veil.     The  touch  of  care 


ON    FIFTH    AVENUE.  123 

Had  chilled  her  soul  like  an  early  snow 

On  the  Autumn  heights  when  the  brooks  creep  slow, 

And  the  quails  pipe  solemn  and  far  and  low. 

A  touch  of  tenderness  lay  over  all 
Her  deed  or  utterance.     And  yet  the  strength 
Of  desert  lion  that  strides  full  length 
From  jungle  at  night,  with  velvet  foot-fall, 
Was  bounded  within  her  bosom.     The  touch 
Of  Time  was  not  on  her.     She  was  as  one 
That  once  uprose  before  the  early  sun, 
And  ere  the  fervid  sun  had  wrested  much 
From  day,  and  ere  her  heart  had  given  proof, 
Had  woven  through  life's  tangled  warp  and  woof. 

And  yet  she  was  not  taught  at  all,  or  skilled 

In  complex  life.     Her  true  strength  lay 

In  splendid  scorn  of  little  things.     All  day 

Her  spirit  seemed  some  oily  essence  spilled 

On  stormy  waters  of  the  Avenue. 

And  this  the  wild,  strong  woman,  so  self  willed 

That  dwelt  the  outer  world  !     Ah,  well  she  knew 

That  candor  and  the  upward  life  of  truth, 

That  made,  yet  marred,  her  splendid,  stormy  youth, 

Matched  not  with  craft !     With  calm  adroitness  she 


i24  ON    FIFTH    AVENUE. 

"Wove  round  herselt  a  matchless  mystery ; 
And  so  sat,  sphinx-like,  silent  and  alone, 
Resolving  conquest,  in  ways  her  own. 

Sir  Francis  did  adore  her.     This  she  knew, 

For  certainly  comes  such  knowledge  to 

A  great-souled  woman.     He  stood  wide  aloof, 

But  yet  his  calm  eyes  lifted,  followed  through 

The  tangle  of  crowds,  in  eternal  proof 

Of  patient  devotion,  where  e'er  she  passed. 

He  turned,  as  bethinking  himself  at  last, 

Sighed,  as  from  habit,  and  passed  on  through 

The  crowd,  and  stood  full  front  face  to 

That  advocate  seen  on  the  Avenue. 


VII. 

And  the  lawyer  bowed  :     "  Sir  Francis,  I  think." 
And  he  turned  a  quid  in  his  mouth  with  a  wink, 
Then  dropped  his  eyes  to  the  floor  again, 
To  a  foot  that  dragged  as  if  dragging  a  chain  : 

" Now  you  are  a  nobleman.     Pardon  me, 
If  business  and  pleasure  must  blend  in  one, 


ON    FIFTH    AVENUE.  125 

But  I  am  in  search  of  a  nobleman's  son  ; 
And  the  thought  has  occurred  that  you  might  be  he. 
No  ?  but  business  is  business.     Pardon  me,  pray— 
Stay,  stay  but  a  moment.     Perhaps  it  will  pay." 

And  he  looked  right  straight  at  the  turning  guest, 

And  he  reached  a  broad  hard  hand  to  his  breast. 

"Now  here's  an  estate  that  is  waiting  an  heir; 

A  noble  estate  that  lies  over  the  sea, 

Of  a  great  Irish  lord  that  is  just  deceased, 

And  I  am  an  advocate.     Now  answer  fair, 

And  square,  if  your  lordship  should  be  so  pleased, 

The  questions  I  ask.     'Twixt  you  and  me, 

Your  answers  shall  rest  till  your  dying  day, 

And  I  think  your  lordship  can  make  it  pay." 

Then  the  butterman's  son  of  the  Avenue, 
In  swallow-tailed  clothes  and  two-buttoned  kids, 
Came  forward  and  languidly  lifted  his  lids 
And  stared  as  if  staring  Sir  Francis  through. 
And  the  lawyer  went  on.     "  I  think  that  you 
Might  have  met  this  heir  in  Australia  ;  he,  too  "- 
The  shot  struck  centre.     As  pale  as  a  ghost 
Sir  Francis  started,  stood  close  to  the  wall, 


126  ON    FIFTH    AVENUE. 

Then  lifting  his  two  hands  let  them  fall 
Both  helpless  down,  and  stood  still  as  a  post. 

Then  the  advocate  laughed,  laughed  low  and  deep, 

A  deep  and  a  devilish  laugh  laughed  he, 

And  he  seemed  to  take  no  note  at  all 

Of  the  stranger's  start  and  deep  agony, 

But  he  turned  to  the  crowd  with  his  back  to  the  wall; 

And  he  spoke  of  the  weather,  of  the  crowd  together 

That  jostled. each  other  like  silly  sheep, 

In  the  sociable  jam;  of  scandal  and  tea, 

Of  tea  as  weak  as  water  could  be, 

Of  scandal  as  strong  as  alcohol. 

Sir  Francis  now  gathered  his  strength  at  last, 

And  pale  and  silent  he  would  have  passed; 

But  the  man  reached  out  and  laid  hold  his  breast 

In  vulgar  pretence  of  a  friendly  request 

That  he  would  linger,  and  so  held  him  fast 

With  hand  and  eye,  and  Sir  Francis  Jain 

Stood  bound  as  bound  with  a  twice-linked  chain. 

"Nay,  wait,  Sir  Francis,  a  stranger  are  you 
On  this  fast  and  fashionable  Avenue. 


ON    FIFTH    AVENUE.  127 

And  I  have  a  fancy  that  you  some  day 
Might  choose  to  marry,  and  make  it  pay. 


"For  you,  Sir  Francis,  I  have  no  doubt, 
Like  all  foreign  noblemen,  are  seeking  out 
Some  oil  man's  daughter,  some  dealer  in  cheese, 
In  rags,  in  offal,  or  in  what  you  please, 
Only  that  she  has  plenty  of  tin- 
Nay,  nay,  Sir  Francis.     Stop,  sir  !     Stay  ! 
These  marrying  men  they  make  it  pay. 
And  that  you  may  not  be  taken  in, 
Why,  I  will  tell  you,  Sir,  while  you  wait, 
Of  their  moral  characters — that  is,  their  estate. 


"  That  milk-white  maiden  parading  there 

With  painted  brows  and  slate-pencilled  hair, 

Is  heiress  to  millions.*    Just  wait  for  the  day 

She  can  lift  her  face  in  her  prayers  and  say 

1  Our  Father  in  heaven,'  in  a  double  sense, 

And  she,  she  can  handle  her  weight  in  gold. 

Then  it's  something  to  know  that  her  parents  are  old, 

And  can  die  and  be  buried  at  the  slightest  expense. 

Particularly  now,  as  they  make  it  pay, 

Cremating,  at  a  dollar  and  sixty  cents. 


128  ON    FIFTH    AVENUE. 

"Stocks?     Not  in  stocks,  but  commerce.    You  see, 
They  made  it  in  commerce  of  milk.     That  is, 
They  bought  in  the  country  and  sold  in  the  town 
For  the  same  price  here  that  they  there  paid  down. 
Nay,  stop,  Sir  Francis  ;    stay,  listen  to  me, 
And  learn  the  way  that  men  make  it  pay. 
They  minted  the  money  !     The  secret  is  this, 
And  it  doesn't  affect  the  good  name  of  the  daughter ; 
But  New  York  is  an  island,  an  island,  you  see  ? 
An  island  !  Sir  Francis, — surrounded  by  water. 

"  That  dark,  gipsy  beauty  in  screw-heel  shoes, 

And  shoulders  thrown   forward,    Sir   Francis,   means 

screws  ! 

That  is,  her  father,  a  tinker  by  trade, 
One  cold,  sloppy  day  when  he  couldn't  get  out, 
On  account  of  bad  shoes,  and  go  howling  about, 
Sat  down  in  a  corner,  while  this  same  heiress  played 
In  the  ashes  beside  him,  and  carelessly  made 
A  sharp-pointed  screw.     Then  what  did  he  do  ? 
Why,  he  went  to  work,  and  with  that  same  screw 
He  screwed  himself  on  to  the  Avenue. 

"  Yon  cast-iron  woman  means  hinges. 

Her  hardware  husband  swings  open  this  door  ; 


ON    FIFTH    AVENUE.  129 

In  fact,  I  may  mention,  there  really  is  more 
That  hinges  and  turns  on  what  he  arranges 
Than  turns  on  returns  of  elections,  twice  o'er. 

There  are  women  put  together  with  hinges  ; 
God  bless  them:  I  pity  their  lords  ; 
One  shrinks  at  the  thought,  and  one  cringes 
At  the  thought  of  being  caught  in  these  hinges 
As  caught  between  tackle  and  cords. 

"Yon  blonde,  so  surrounded  with  half  the  gay  beaux 

Of  Gotham,  good  sir,  is  the  Princess  of  Pills. 

She  is  weighed  down  with  diamonds  as  dews  weight  a 
rose, 

She  is  smothered  in  satins,  in  laces,  and  frills ; 

She  walks  through  the  world  with  a  heavenward  nose, 

And  yet  it  means  pills,  sir,  nothing  pills. 

Silks  and  satins  and  laces  and  frills, 
Fine  French  masters  and  milliner's  bills. 
Pills,  sir  !  moving  and  marvellous  pills. 

"  She  is  wooed  by  a  dozen  brave  counts  who  propose 
To  swallow  her  pills,  her  diamonds,  her  nose, 
And  all  at  a  gulp  without  sugar.     For,  oh  ! 
They  adore  this  fair  girl,  and  her  diamonds,  so. 


130  ON    FIFTH    AVENUE. 

Yet  only  to  think  of  it !     Every  bright  stone 
Must  have  cost  her  a  million  of  pills  alone. 

Pills,  pills  !     How  she  laughs  at  life's  ills  ! 

A  coachman's  cockade,  a  poodle  that  kills  ! 

Pills,  sir  !  active,  industrious  pills. 

"  Horses  and  houses  in  blocks  and  in  rows, 

She  lives  in  a  palace,  she  lifts  her  nose 

At  every  man  less  than  a  millionaire, 

If  he  be  not  a  prince  with  a  pompous  air. 

And  how  do  you  say  they  make  it  pay  ? 

Pills,  sir  !  active,  industrious  pills  ! 
Pills  that  are  doing  both  night  and  day, 
Pills  that  work  while  their  masters  play. 

"  And  yet  my  lady  with  the  lifted  head, 
The  palaces  high  and  the  broad,  rich  lands, 
The  upward  nose  with  its  rose  of  red, 
The  broad  flat  foot  and  the  bony  hands — 

She  is  not  happy.     For  all  her  pills, 
For  all  her  finery,  for  all  her  frills, 
I  pity,  indeed,  my  Princess  of  Pills. 

"For  all  her  wooings  and  chances  to  wed, 
For  all  her  wealth  and  her  heavenward  head, 


ON    FIFTH    AVENUE.  131 

She  is  not  happy.     Prince  de  Hotelle, 
The  proud  Italian  who  learned  his  airs 
In  lighting  his  master's  guests  up  stairs, 
Is  gone  !  and  the  gossips  they  laugh  and  tell 
Ho*v  her  father  refused  him  for  fear  his  bills 
Might  swallow  up  all  his  industrious  pills. 

"  That  woman  that  waddles  so  crabwise  there, 
And  toddles  and  puffs  and  pushes  the  crowd, 
Means  oil.     'Tis  oozing  from  out  her  hair. 
And  why  does  she  dress  so  large  and  so  loud  ? 
And  why  does  she  crowd  and  elbow  through? 
Why,  she  is  a  light  of  the  Avenue ; 
A  leader  of  women,  the  delight  of  men, 
And,  learned  men  say,  is  sharp  with  the  pen. 

"  A  widow  is  she  of  forty  and  five, 

The  relict  of  Septimus  Boggs  ; 

A  widow  is  she  of  proud  degree, 

And  the  wealthiest  widow  alive. 

A  widow  is  she,  and  as  you  can  see, 

Her  waist  is  as  large  as  a  log's  ; 

Yet  she,  she  is  wooed  by  the  wisest  men, 

For  she  made  her  fortune  alone  by  the  pen. 


I32  ON    FIFTH    AVENUE. 

"  How  oily  she  is  !  how  smiling  when 
She  waddles  along  in  her  airy  walk  ! 
You  hear  her  grunt  when  she  turns  to  talk 
To  one  of  the  wise  and  the  wooing  men. 
She  toddles,  she  puffs  like  an  engine  shunt, 
And  all  Cincinnati  is  in  that  grunt. 
Now,  I  say  oil  made  her  rich  ;  but  then, 
She  says  she  made  it  alone  by  the  pen. 


"  Oh,  she  is  the  wealthiest  widow  alive, 

She  is  wooed  by  a  thousand  men  ; 

A  widow  is  she  of  forty  and  five, 

And  the  relict  of  Septimus  Boggs. 

A  widow  is  she,  and  she  came  to  thrive 

By  making  a  corner  in  hogs  ! — 

By  cornering  all  the  pigs,  and  then, 

She  made  her  fortune,  you  see,  by  the  pen. 

"  Nay,  stay  !     But,  sir,  if  you  will  begone, 
Why  I  will  follow  you  idly  on  ; 
And  as  we  leisurely  elbow  through 
This  creme  de  la  creme  of  the  Avenue, 
Will  tell  you  of  Popper.     Why,  sir,  you 
Have  saved  her  to-day.     She  was  hanging  to 


ON    FIFTH    AVENUE.  133 

The  skirts  of  society,  sir,  till  you 

Came  by  to-day  and  so  pulled  her  through. 

"  No,  this  is  not  the  best.     And  yet 

It  is,  some  say,  the  very  best 

Society  in  all  Manhattan. 

We  have  some  families  we  call  "  old," 

Some  sluggish  Dutch  whose  founders  sat  and 

Let  the  town  grow  east  and  west, 

The  while  they  sat  as  old  hens  set, 

And  idly  hatched  their  eggs  of  gold. 

So  that  Manhattan's  proudest  ones 

Are  simply,  sir,  some  Dutchman's  sons. 

"  And  these  same  families  are  so  old, 
So  walled  about  by  bags  of  gold, 
Their  wealthy  children  quite  forget 
Whether  their  parents  who  left  them  lands 
Were  gentlemen,  or  men  whose  hands 
Did  open  oysters  or  draw  the  net, 
Or  measure  peanuts  from  side  stands. 

"  Indeed,  it  hardly  is  settled  yet 
Whether  these  gents  whose  tents  were  set 


134  ON    FIFTH    AVENUE. 

Along  the  new  shore's  unclaimed  sands, 
Were  gentle  pirates  or  mere  brigands — 
The  Knickerbockers  ?     The  same,  but,  oh  ! 
They  are  so  respectable,  you  know, 
So  very  respectable  and — slow  ! 

"You  hear  those  bottles  just  popping,  sir, 

Back  yonder,  where  Popper  now  sweats  and  swears, 

And  opens  his  bottles  and  then  declares 

To  his  gathered  guests  that  he  brought  the  wine 

Himself,  from  the  cellars  of  his  German  friend, 

The  Baron  of  Heiderofisterchir  ? 

Well,  that  is  the  battle  of  Murray  Hill. 

These  Poppers  they  hold  the  fort.     They  will 

Drink  their  wine,  they  will  shout  and  shine 

Their  day ;  they  will  fire  at  all  below 

With  champagne  bottles,  who  would  gladly  blow 

My  lady  grand  to  the  moon,  and  hold 

Her  place  with  their  new  and  their  greasy  gold." 

Sir  Francis  met,  ere  he  had  quite  withdrawn, 
The  Baroness  again  ;  again  he  courtly  bowed, 
And,  lest  the  knave  who  followed  through  the  crowd 
Might  make  familiar  if  he  paused,  passed  on. 


ON    FIFTH    AVENUE.  135 

"  You  know  her  then  !  this  wealthy  Baroness  ? 
This  sort  of  female  Count  of  Monte  Christo  ? 
Why,  sir  !  you  writhe,  is  if  you  felt  distress  ; 
And,  sir  !  what  makes  you  double  up  your  fist  so  ? 
She  is  the  grandest  in  the  land,  but — well, 
We  lawyers  know  some  things  we  never  tell." 


VIII. 

The  gay  Mephistophiles  still  at  his  side, 
Now  crooking  his  thumb  over  shoulder,  he  cried  ; 
"And  this,  Sir  Francis,  is  the  kettle  drum  ! 
Where  brave  Sitting  Bull  would  be  shamed  at  the  din. 
Where  tall,  childless  women  in  multitudes  come, 
Who  would  charm  with  the  cheek,  but  alarm  with  the 
chin." 

And  then  with  his  hand  to  his  face,  and  aside, 
He  whispered  shrill — yet  we  know  he  lied. 
"  These  ladies  are  blessed  as  angels  be, 
They  spend  their  days  in  driving  about 
Seeking  some  suitable  object  out 
To  receive  their  meddlesome  charity. 


136  ON    FIFTH    AVENUE. 

11  They  find  some  poor,  broken  horse  at  a  dray. 
They  gather  around  in  their  carriages.     They 
Are  thick  and  as  noisy  as  crows.     Ah,  me  ! 
How  noble, — and  noisy,  sweet  charity  ! 
They  weep  o'er  the  horse  ;  the  man  they  arrest.   .  . 
A  poor  wife  starves  with  a  babe  at  her  breast. 

"  And  how  they  do  work  !  that  is,  with  the  tongue  ; 
And  alone  with  the  tongue.     All  work,  somehow — 
Why,  even  the  bearing  and  rearing  of  young 
They  leave  to  the  Dutch  and  the  Irish  now. 
This  city  is  paved  with  dead  infants  !  "  he  cried. 
Goodness  gracious  !  don't  you  think  he  lied  ? 

"  O,  give  me  good  mothers.    Yea,  great,  glad  mothers. 
Proud  mothers  of  dozens,  indeed,  twice  ten  ; 
Fond  mothers  of  daughters  and  mothers  of  men, 
With  old-time  clusters  of  sisters  and  brothers, 
'  When  grand  Greeks  lived  like  to  gods,  and  when 
Brave  mothers  of  men,  strong-breasted  and  broad, 
Did  exult  in  fulfilling  the  purpose  of  God. 

"  Yea,  give  me  mothers,  grand,  old-world  mothers, 

Who  peopled  strong,  lusty,  loved  Germany, 

Till  she  pushed  the  Frank  from  the  Rhine  to  the  sea. 


ON    FIFTH    AVENUE.  137 

Yea,  give  me  mothers  to  love,  and  none  others ; 
Blessed,  beautified  mothers  of  men  for  me, 
For  they,  they  have  loved  in  the  brave  old  way. 
And  for  this,  all  honor  for  aye  and  a  day. 

"  O  ye  of  the  West,  the  strong-limbed  mothers, 
Made  firmest  of  foot  and  most  mighty  of  hand ; 
Dominion  is  yours,  through  the  whole,  wide  land, 
To  the  end  of  the  world.     For  who  but  your  brothers, 
And  men  of  your   breasts  with  the  brave   warrior's 

brand 

Led  down  to  the  sea  ?     Who  hewed  a  red  way  ? 
Yea,  who  are  the  captains  that  lead  us  to-day  ? 

"Ye  Cyprians  of  fashion,  ye  whited,' cursed  mothers  ! 
Yea,  cursed  as  the  Christ  cursed  the  barren  fig  tree, 
With  your  one  sickly  branch  where  a  dozen  should  be ; 
It  were  better  ye  bide  as  the  Capuchin  brothers, 
Or,  millstone  at  neck,  ye  be  thrown  in  the  sea. 
Ye  are  dried  up  peppers  in  a  dried  up  pod. 
Ye  are  hated  of  men,  and  abhorred  of  God!" 


138  ON    FIFTH    AVENUE. 


IX. 


This  Mephistopheles  now  turned, 
As  if  the  whole  gay  world  was  spurned 
As  something  quite  beneath  his  care, 
And  said,  with  philosophic  air  :     , 
"  The  fight  goes  on  from  year  to  year. 
Yet  bye  and  bye  the  Poppers  will 
Surrender  and  pass  quite  away; 
As  water  finds  its  level.     Still 
In  humbler  spheres  will  they  recount  the  day, 
To  wond'ring  friends,  and,  sighing,  say 
How,  once,  great  men  on  Murray  Hill 
Did  pay  them  court,  and  how  they  drew 
"in  wake,  the  world-famed  Avenue. 

"In  storied  countries  grand  and  old, 
The  Christian  had  the  gates  of  gold 
That  wall  God's  paradise,  in  view  ; 
But  here  he  has  Fifth  Avenue. 

"  Here  shine  no  gates  beyond  for  him; 
All  else  is  doubtful,  vague,  and  dim. 
The  Paynim's  roads  led  e'er  to  Rome. 


ON    FIFTH    AVENUE.  139 

The  goal,  the  hope,  eternal  home, 
That  proud  Manhattan  has  in  view, 
Is  here  ;  this  fair  Fifth  Avenue. 

"Lo  !  here  upon  this  stony  height, 
The  victors  of  the  long,  hard  fight 
With  Mammon,  where  the  thousands  fell 
To  fill  the  trenches,  that  the  few 
Might  pass  to  victory  and  tell 
Their  triumphs,  are  entrenched.     Behold 
Their  mighty  barricades  of  gold." 


Sir  Francis  shrugged  and  would  have  passed  ; 

The  lawyer  clutched  and  held  him  fast. 

This  fellow  like  a  carpet  tack 

Or  cockle  burr  stuck  sharp.     Indeed 

He  was  too  thin  of  blood  to  bleed, 

But  sucked  his  fellow's  blood.     In  fact 

He  was  a  vampyre  :  brown  and  wan 

He  was  about  the  throat;  a  bat, 

A  hungry,  sharp-nosed,  smelling  rat : 

A   man  of  fashion,  yet  the  slave 

Of  getting,  getting,  getting  on  : 

A  dangerous  and  clever  knave  ; 


i4o  ON    FIFTH    AVENUE. 

A  crooked,  ugly,  carpet  tack, 
That  was  not  safe  to  sit  upon. 

He  was  just  such  a  man  as  you 
Might  choose  in  hard  extremity  to  do 
Some  doubtful  enterprise,  that  lay 
Beyond  your  bound  of  conscience. 

He 

Had  always  character  for  you. 
Since  he  was  now  no  longer  poor, 
He  kept  a  character  at  the  door, 
As  some  men  keep  a  carriage.     See  ! 
My  character  !     Steel  springs  !     Bran  new ! 

The  vilest  man,  was  this  same  bore  ; 
And  I  should  like  to  swing  him  to 
The  great  lamp-post  that  glares  before 
His  mighty,  massive,  carven  door, 
That  lords  the  splendid  Avenue, 
For  telling  things  so  vilely  true. 

A  lawyer  ?  liar  ?  much  the  same 
In  practice,  quite  as  well  as  name. 
I  did  not  make  him.     Hear  me  through. 
I  hate  him  heartily  as  you, 


ON    FIFTH    AVENUE.  141 

And  yet  between  us,  you  and  I, 
No  lands  or  lines  in  common  lie. 

I  am  not  of  your  flock.     Drive  all 
Your  sheep  in  herd  from  field  to  stall ; 
Mark  them !  brand  them  !    And  if  one 
Dare  stand  alone,  look  back,  or  run, 
Give  him  the  dogs  ! 

Nay,  let  me  keep 
The  bleak,  bare  hills  alone,  aloof. 
Rather  a  goat  than  such  a  sheep  ! 
A  right  to  laugh  ;  and  the  room  to  leap  ! 
Rather  the  wild,  cold  crags  where  I 
May  dare  its  height  ;  may  strike  my  hoof- 
Wag  my  head  at  the  world  and  die. 

I  am  not  of  you.     I  love  not  you. 
I  hate  and  abhor  your  middle-class. 
Your  mule,  that's  neither  a  horse  nor  ass, 
But  holds  the  worst  parts  of  the  two. 

I  hate  your  middle-men  ;  men  who 
Are  ever  striving,  straining  to 
A  place  they  don't  fit  in.     They  rise, 
They  hang  between  the  earth  and  skies, 


142  ON    FIFTH    AVENUE. 

As  hung  the  prophet's  coffin.     Lies 
Are  on  their  lips,  in  all  their  deeds. 
Their  lives  are  lies,  their  hollow  creeds 
Make  infidel,  sweet  souls  that  bloom 
On  humble  ground,  in  lonely  gloom. 

Write  me  not  of  that  class.     My  name, 

Thank  God,  is  not  of  these.     I  claim 

No  middle-class  or  place.     I  lie 

Secure,  and  shall  not  fall,  for  I 

Am  of  the  lowliest  lot — as  low 

As  God's  own  sweetest  flowers  grow. 


The  Baroness,  with  heedless  air, 
Passed  on,  came  back,  passed  anywhere. 
She  was  as  one  who  moved  or  stood 
At  morn  in  twilight  widowhood. 
With  South-land  love  in  her  great  eyes, 
With  beauty  that  the  gods  adore, 
With  wealth  that  made  a  vulgar  prize, 
What  wonder  that  she  stood  before 
The  world  more  fair  than  all  things  there  ? 


ON    FIFTH    AVENUE.  143 

That  crowd  !     It  was  a  stormy  crowd  ! 

They  elbowed  sharp,  they  shouted  loud, 

They  shamed  the  loudest  auction  sale. 

The  men  talked  "  pay  "  and  "  stocks,"  and  in 

The  fierce  and  universal  din, 

The  women  rattled  spoons  and  forks, 

And  reached  their  necks  like  lonesome  storks, 

And  tiptoed  high  as  if  to  hail 

In  hard  distress,  some  distant  sail. 

Six  horrid  fiddlers  piped  and  scraped ; 

Short,  stuffy  pipers,  puffed  and  red, 

With  half  the  hair  blown  off  the  head, 

So  shiny,  white  and  turnip-shaped — 

They  puffed  their  cheeks,  they  swelled  and  blew 

The  louder,  as  the  louder  crew 

Displayed  their  rival  brass  and  cheek. 

Beware  !  Beware,  when  Greek  meets  Greek. 

But  O,  take  care  when  ass  meets  ass 

In  braying  rivalry  of  brass. 

They  blew  as  if  for  life  or  death, 

And  when  they  stopped  to  catch  their  breath, 

An  artificial  singing-bird, 

Just  such  as  are  forever  heard 


144  ON    FIFTH  .  A  VENUE. 

Along  the  upper,  German  Rhine, 

In  third-class  drinking-sheds  of  wine, 

Sprang  up  from  artificial  vine, 

And  trilled  so  shrill,  so  sharp,  that  you 

Had  thought  your  poor  head  split  in  two. 

Sir  Francis,  with  distempered  air, 

And  something  touching  on  despair, 

Shook  off  the  bore  and  elbowed  through, 

And  sought  dame  P.  to  say  adieu. 

The  man  was  at  his  side  again — 

"  I  pray  your  pardon,  Sir  Francis  Jain, 

But  see  those  dozens  of  young  men  there  ? 

These  gay  young  bloods,  who  live  to  chew, 

And  squirt  ambier  on  the  Avenue, 

And  strut  striped  clothes  like  convicts  through 

The  walks  of  the  city  ?     Well,  every  one 

Is  somebody's  son,  sir,  somebody's  son. 

When  that  is  said,  all's  said  and  done  ; 

Each  one  is  known  as  somebody's  son." 

"  The  daughters  are  splendid,  fair,  honest,  and  true, 
,  Yet  as  full  of  old  Nick,  I  promise  you, 
In  an  innocent  way,  as  you  can  think. 
You  see  yon  blonde,  in  a  group  of  men  ? 


ON    FIFTH    AVENUE.  145 

She  is  pure  as  jolly  ;  and  just  as  bright  ! 
Well,  she  has  confessed  that  many  a  night 
She  scarce  has  been  able  to  sleep  a  wink, 
But  nearly  all  night  has  laid  awake 
Regretting  that  there  were  only  ten 
Of  the  holy  commandments  for  men  to  break." 

Sir  Francis,  disgusted  and  firmer  now, 
Pushed  him  aside,  with  gathered  brow, 
And  down  the  hall  sought  hat  and  cane. 
There  was  to  him  a  sense  of  shame 
In  mixing  in  this  bedlam. 

Vain 

He  tried,  to  escape  the  man  who  came 
Still  at  his  elbow,  with  that  same 
Infernal  smile. 

"I  say,  you  can 

Bo  worse  than  wed  that  tall  brunette 
I  saw  you  ogle.     Eh  !  Sir  Jain  ? 
To  wed  that  lady,  sir,  would  pay 
As  well,  or  better,  than  finding  the  man 
For  the  Irish  estate.     And  then,  they  say, 
The  girl's  in  the  market  right  smart.     And  yet 
She's  hardly  a  girl,  if  the  gossips  speak  true. 

And  now,  Sir  Jain,  if  I  speak  plain, 
10 


i46  ON    FIFTH    AVENUE. 

I  beg  your  pardon.     But  a  girl  to  me 
Is  hardly  a  girl,  be  she  never  so  young, 
Never  so  gracious  of  air  and  tongue, 
Who  has,  on  the  very  same  Avenue 
Where  she  is  residing,  a  husband  or  two." 

His  rage  was  like  the  thunder's  fall ; 
His  glare  was  like  a  leaping  fire. 
Swift  up  the  hall,  swift  down  the  hall, 
Sir  Francis  glanced,  and  left  and  right, 
And  not  a  woman  was  then  in  sight. 
With  not  a  single  word  to  say, 
Like  fair  Apollo,  he  struck  the  liar, 
Clutched  hat  and  cane  and  strode  away. 

He  reached  the  door,  passed  proudly  through, 
Then  down  the  ample  steps,  and  on 
And  up  the  teeming  Avenue. 
Yet  ere  the  man  was  fairly  gone, 
He  heard  behind  a  hoarse,  loud  cry, 
As  one  made  wild  with  rage  and  pain, 
That  called  out,  clanged  out  cruelly  ; 
"Sir  Francis  Jain  !  Sir  Francis  Jain  ! 
You  walk  as  if  you  dragged  a  chain  !  " 


ON    FIFTH    AVENUE.  147 


XI. 


And  here  we  leave  the  lovers.     He, 
Sad-browed  and  sorrowful.     And  she  ? 
No  one  might  guess.     Why,  you  might  gaze 
And  gaze  upon  her  great,  proud  face, 
So  sphynx-like  fixed  for  all  the  days, 
And  read  not  any  sign  or  trace 
Of  love  or  faith,  or  hope  or  hate, 
Or  aught  save  fixedness,  as  fate. 

Sometimes  the  best  of  any  town 

Is  quite  outside  the  town  ;  the  trees, 

The  park,  the  wide,  wild  rim  of  seas, 

The  glade,  the  sloping  hill,  the  down  ; 

Indeed,  the  dens  of  brick  and  clay, 

And  dirty  cobble-stones,  dismay 

A  soul  untrained  through  life  to  these. 


- 


And  so,  ofttime,  the  brightest  side 

Of  some  great  house,  my  gay  young  friend, 

Is  its  outside.     The  wounded  pride, 

The  strife,  the  struggle  to  the  end, 


I48  ON    FIFTH    AVENUE. 

That  high-set  mention,  may  be  won, 
The  doubtful  triumph,  sure  defeat, 
The  slow  advance,  the  swift  retreat, 
The  broken  hearts,  the  souls  undone  — 
Outside!  outside,  in  God's  glad  sun  ! 


When  Sabbath  blesses  us  with  rest, 
When  beauteous  woman  is  most  blest, 
When  church-blessed  people  crowd  and  teem, 
And  tide  and  flow  like  some  strong  stream, 
All  still  as  spirits  in  a  dream- 
When  spring-time  sunbeams  strike  us,  bold 
And  strong  as  toppled  beams  of  gold  ; 
When  spires  uplift  and  point  us  to 
The  starry  steeps  of  God,  and  through 
All  peril ;  when  we  rise  and  pour 
On  tranquil  Sundays  from  church  door — 

When  white- winged  ships  drift  dreamily, 
Or  shoot  like  shuttles  fro  and  to, 
Across  great  streets  that  stretch  far  down 
To  seas  011  either  side  the  town  ; 
When  skies  are  bound  in  spotless  blue  ; 


ON    FIFTH    AVENUE.  149 

When  ships  tend  seaward  ceaselessly, 
Sail  forth  to  pure  white  polar  seas, 
Bring  fruit  from  farthest  Sicilies, 
Bring  pinky  coral  from  south  deeps, 
Where  everlasting  silence  sleeps, 
To  this  new  Venice  of  the  sea  ; 
O  then  go  forth,  proud-souled,  and  view 
This  glorious,  full,  Fifth  Avenue  ! 


And  go  exulting,  proud,  and  true, 
To  this  great  land  that  nurtured  you  ; 
Yea,  go  full-hearted,  loving,  fond, 
And  loyal  to  your  land  !  for  you 
May  range  all  peopled  regions  through, 
May  seek  all  cities,  far  or  near, 
Beyond  the  seas  and  still  beyond, 
Yet  you  shall  never  find  one  peer 
To  this  proud  scene  so  near  your  home. 
The  crowded  carnival  of  Rome, 
That  Saturn  crowns  each  vernal  year, 
Knows  nothing  in  its  proudest  day 
Like  this  magnificent  display 
Of  men  and  maidens  moving  through 
This  populous,  proud  Avenue. 


150  ON    FIFTH    AVENUE. 

Yea,  I  have  tracked  the  hemispheres, 
Have  touched  on  fairest  land  that  lies 
This  side  the  gates  of  Paradise  ; 
Have  ranged  the  universe  for  years, 
Have  read  the  book  of  beauty  through 
From  title-leaf  to  colophon, 
While  pleasure  turned  the  leaves. 

Yet  on 

This  island  bank  your  bark  should  strand, 
Your  feet  should  cleave  this  solid  land  ; 
That  you  may  live,  alone  to  view 
The  glory  of  this  Avenue. 

Go  ye,  and  wander  if  you  will, 

For  grace  in  far-off  countries.     Still, 

When  every  foreign  land  is  trod, 

I  know  ye  will  return,  and  you 

Will  lift  your  hands,  protesting  there 

Was  never  yet  a  scene  so  fair 

This  side  the  golden  gates  of  God. 

Such  women  !  And  such  waists  !     Such  arms  ! 

Such  full  development  of  charms  ! 

Such  matchless,  moving  loveliness  ! 

Such  sweeping  grace  !     Such  gorgeous  dress ! 


ON   FIFTH    AVENUE.  151 

Such  eyes  !     Such  little  feet !  and  such — 
Such  everything  !     It  is  too  much  ! 
It  drives  one  wild  to  sit  and  write 
Of  so  much  beauty,  when  one  might — 
But  never  mind.     Go  thou  and  view 
The  glory  of  the  Avenue  ! 

How  peaceful  and  how  perfect  all ! 

A  rustle  as  of  rustling  trees 

When  crisp-curled  autumn  leaflets  fall ; 

A  murmur  like  the  lull  of  bees 

In  Californian  flower  field 

On  purple  afternoons. 

You  hear 

No  lifted  voice  affront  the  ear, 
Or  sword-like  tongue  clang  battle-shield. 
Columbia's  low-voiced  women  call, 
Or  answer  back  to  ardent  loves, 
Like  cooing,  changeful-throated  doves, 
On  far,  faint,  wooded  waterfall ; 
And  this  you  hear,  and  that  is  all. 

What  long,  long,  endless,  lovely  lines 
Of  moving  beauty  reaching  down 
Like  benedictions  through  the  town  ! 


152  ON   FIFTH   AVENUE. 

What  pride  !     What  glory  mantles  all ! 
What  gorgeous  garmenting  of  tall, 
Majestic  Junos  !     Beauty  shines 
From  every  speaking  paving-stone 
As  beauty  never  spake  or  shone. 

What  rainbow-colors  !     Lines  of  clothes  ! 
Not  clothes-lines  !     No  !     But  now  suppose, 
Sartor  Resartus,  quaint  Carlisle, 
Stands  looking  up  this  many  a  mile 
Of  moving  beauty  ;  and  suppose 
He  puts  his  finger  to  his  nose, 
And,  smiling,  with  that  cynic  smile, 
Divests  them  there  of  all  their  clothes  ? 


XII. 

And  yet  how  lonely  is  all  this  ! 
More  lone  than  middle  forest  is, 
If  strange,  and  worn,  and  weary  you 
Move  down  this  mighty  Avenue. 

I  do  remember  long  ago, 

A  boy,  by  Leman's  languid  flow, 

Alone,  alone!     God,  how  alone! 


ON   FIFTH  AVENUE.  153 

To  land  and  language  all  unknown. 
I  strolled  so  wearily  and  slow, 
And  sad  as  after  death.     The  crowd 
Was  gay,  and  populous,  and  loud. 

Alone  and  sad  I  sat  me  down 
To  rest  on  Rousseau's  narrow  Isle, 
Below  Geneva.     Mile  on  mile 
And  set  with  many  a  shining  town, 
Tow'rd  Dent  du  Midi  danced  the  wave 
Beneath  the  moon. 

Winds  went  and  came, 
And  fanned  the  stars  into  a  flame. 
I  heard  the  loved  lake,  dark  and  deep, 
Rise  up  and  talk  as  in  its  sleep. 
I  heard  the  laughing  waters  lave 
And  lap  against  the  farther  shore, 
An  idle  oar,  and  nothing  more, 
Save  that  the  Isle  had  voice,  and  save 
That  round  about  its  base  of  stone 
There  plashed  and  flashed  the  foamy  Rhone. 

A  stately  man,  as  black  as  tan, 
Kept  up  a  stern  and  broken  round 
Among  the  strangers  on  the  ground. 


154  ON   FIFTH  AVENUE. 

I  named  that  awful  African 
A  second  Hannibal. 

I  gat 

My  elbows  on  the  table,  sat 
With  chin  in  upturned  palm  to  scan 
His  face,  and  contemplate  the  scene. 
The  moon  rode  by  a  star-crowned  queen. 
I  was  alone.     Lo  !  not  a  man 
To  speak  my  mother  tongue.     Ah  me  ! 
How  more  than  all  alone  can  be 
A  man  in  crowds.     Across  the  Isle 
My  Hannibal  strode  on. 

The  while 

Diminished  Rousseau  sat  his  throne 
Of  books,  unnoticed  and  unknown. 


This  strange,  strong  man,  with  face  austere 
At  last  drew  near.      He  bowed  ;  he  spake 
In  unknown  tongue.     I  could  but  shake 
My  head.     Then,  half  a-chill  with  fear 
I  rose,  and  sought  another  place. 
Again  I  mused.     The  kings  of  thought 
Came  by,  and  on  that  storied  spot 
I  lifted  up  a  tearful  face. 


ON  FIFTH  AVENUE.  155 

The  star-set  Alps  they  sang  a  tune 
Unheard  by  any  soul  save  mine. 
Mont  Blanc,  as  lone  and  as  divine 
And  white,  seemed  mated  to  the  moon. 

The  past  was  mine,  strong- voiced  and  vast : 
Stern  Calvin,  strange  Voltaire,  and  Tell, 
And  two  whose  names  are  known  too  well 
To  name,  in  grand  procession  passed. 

And  yet  again  came  Hannibal, 
King-like  he  came,  and  drawing  near, 
I  saw  his  brow  was  now  severe 
And  resolute.     In  tongues  unknown 
Again  he  spake.     I  was  alone, 
Was  all  unarmed,  was  worn  and  sad  ; 
But  now,  at  last,  my  spirit  had 
Its  old  assertion. 

I  arose, 

As  startled  from  a  dull  repose. 
With  gathered  strength  I  raised  a  hand, 
And  cried,  "  I  do  not  understand." 

His  black  face  brightened  as  I  spake  ; 
He  bowed  ;  he  wagged  his  woolly  head  ; 


156  ON    FIFTH    AVENUE. 

He  showed  his  shining  teeth  and  said, 
"  Sah,  if  you  please,  dose  tables  here 
Am  consecrate  to  lager-beer ; 
And,  sah,  what  will  you  have  to  take  ?  " 

Not  that  I  loved  that  colored  cuss — 
Nay  !  he  had  awed  me  all  too  much — 
But  I  sprang  forth,  and  with  a  clutch 
I  grasped  his  hand,  and  holding  thus, 
Cried, 

"  Bring  my  country's  drink  for  two  !  " 
For  oh  !  that  speech  of  Saxon  sound 
To  me  was  as  a  fountain  found 
In  wastes,  and  thrilled  me  through  and  through. 

On  Rousseau's  Isle,  in  Rousseau's  shade, 
Two  pink  and  spicy  drinks  were  made  ; 
In  classic  shade,  on  classic  ground, 
We  stirred  two  cocktails  round  and  round. 


XIII. 

The  Baroness  in  her  parlors  lay 
Red  flushed  with  conquest  of  the  day. 


ON    FIFTH    AVENUE.  157 

"  And  he  is  mine  ! "  She  half  arose 
From  couch  of  gold  and  silken  snow 
At  thought  of  it. 

The  proud  repose 
That  comes  to  voyagers  who  know 
The  land  is  theirs,  illumed  her  face. 
"  Good  Christ,  it  were  a  lusty  race, 
That  I  did  run  for  name  and  place  ! 
To  name  myself  the  Baroness  ! 
To  seek  the  proudest  city  out ! 
To  come  a  stranger  in  disdain, 
Proud  scorning  all  life's  littleness; 
To  dare  it  all  !  to  never  doubt  ! 
To  reach  mine  own  strong,  right  hand  out, 
And  clutch  this  lion's  yellow  mane  ! 

"  I  am  the  Baroness  du  Bois  ! 
Aye,  that  is  good  !  from  wood  and  vine 
I  drew  nay  line.     My  crest  should  be 
An  arrow  cleaving  through  a  tree, 
For  even  all  earth's  wooden  walls 
Shall  not  defeat.     My  burning  brow 
Shall  bear  his  coronet.     My  halls, 
My  marble  halls,  shall  shout  with  joy! 
My  firm  feet  shall  not  falter  now! 


158  ON    FIFTH    AVENUE. 

Why  turn  me  back  ?    My  slopes  of  pine 
Henceforth  shall  be  a  land  forgot. 
I  know  them  not,  I  know  them  not. 
My  face  shall  front  the  rising  sun, 
My  feet  shall  measure  conquests  run. 
If  I  must  make  a  long,  strong  race, 
What  good  that  I  turn  back  my  face 
Each  day,  to  see  the  distance  done  ? 

"  Yet,  Christ !  I  almost  wish  again 
That  seat  in  heart-sick  loneliness, 
Quite  at  the  bottom  round,  that  I 
Might  scorn  again  to  climb  so  high, 
Or  seek  with  burning  eagerness 
A  worthless  coronet.     My  breast 
Disdains  deceit !     I  cannot  rest. 

"  But  he  is  mine  !    Sir  Francis  Jain, 

My  lion  with  the  yellow  mane, 

Ere  yet  another  month  betide 

Shall  take  me  close,  his  bosomed  bride. .  . 

And  Doughal  ? 

God  !  the  thought  of  it !  " 
She  sprang  full  statured  in  the  air. 
She  shook  her  mighty  storm  of  hair, 


ON    FIFTH    AVENUE.  159 

And  trembled  as  in  ague  fit — 

"  I  cannot,  cannot,  cannot  tear 

His  memory,  the  love,  the  hate, 

The  everlasting  hate  I  bear 

This  man,  from  out  my  heart,  go  where 

I  may." 

Her  two  clasped  hands  fell  down. 
Her  face  forgot  its  dark,  fierce  frown, 
And  sad  and  slow  she  shook  her  head. 
"O,  if,  indeed,  it  were  but  hate! 
But  love  and  hate  do  intertwine, 
A  serpent,  and  a  laden  vine. 
But  where  is  Doughal  ? 

He  is  dead ! 

Thank  God,  the  man  is  dead  !  and  I 
Am  free  as  any  maid  to  wed. 
And  if  he  be  not  dead,  what  then  ? 
Do  I  not  hate  him  with  a  hate 
That  will  not  let  me  hesitate 
Now  at  the  last  ? 

Above  all  men 

I  hate  this  cursed,  cold  man  who  fled, 
And  left  me  in  the  flame  to  die.  .  .  . 
And  he  is  dead,  thank  God,  is  dead  ! 


160  ON    FIFTH    AVENUE. 

"  And  if  he  be  not  dead,  but  rise 
Some  day  to  front  me  ?     I  can  say, 
Can  look  right  squarely  in  his  eyes, 
Before  Sir  Francis,  any  day, 
And  say,  my  lord,  this  fellow  lies  ! 

"  But  then  my  letters  !  and  the  face 
I  painted  on  that  quaint  gold-plate  ! 
Ah,  curse  that  childish  face  !     I  hate 
That  priest  who  taught  my  hand  to  trace 
Its  silly  lineaments.     But  fate 
Has  been  my  friend.     I  still  will  dare 
And  trust  to  fate,  and  leave  the  care 
To  circumstance. 

"  Now  shall  I  wed 
This  baronet,  and  so  shall  be 
Indeed  a  rightful  Baroness. 
Yea,  be  the  thing  I  do  profess, 
Where  no  man's  tongue  may  question  me  ; 
And  in  some  new,  far  home  forget 
That  love  which  comes  to  haunt  me  yet. 
Yea,  Doughal,  Doughal,  he  that  fled, 
And  left  me  in  the  flame,  is  dead, 
Is  dead  !  is  dead  !  thank  God,  is  dead  ! " 


ON   FIFTH   AVENUE.  161 

She  sank  upon  her  couch.     She  drew 
Her  round  arms  up  right  full,  and  threw 
Them  forth,  and  sighed  and  caught  her  breath 
As  one  that  waked  from  sleep-like  death. 
She  straightened  long  limbs  in  repose, 
Her  long,  strong  fearless  limbs  that  grew 
To  God's  perfection,  where  they  knew 
No  bridling.     Her  dark  lids  did  close 
In  lovely  languor,  and  she  lay 
As  one  that  would  forget  alway. 

But  vain  she  wooed  her  soul's  repose. 
She  turned,  and  on  her  round  arm  rose, 
And  touched  a  bell.     "  How  thick  this  air  ! 
Pray  place  a  pastille  on  the  marble  there. 
Within  the  alcove.     Why,  my  wood — 
Kay,  heed  me  not.     Why  do  you  stare  ? 
My  mind  resumes  its  savage  mood, 
My  soul  takes  on  the  elements 
Of  storm  and  battle  and  events 
'Twas  chiefest  of.  ...     Nay,  nay,  my  mind 
Went  back  to  my  ancestral  laud, 
And  I  fell  dreaming  of  the  grand 

Old  forest,  and  of  hound  and  hind 
11 


162  ON    FIFTH    AVENUE. 

Afar.     Ah  !  thank  you. 

Turn  that  chair 

A  shade  more  mellow  from  the  light, 
A  footstool,  now.     Now  loose  my  hair 
And  fan  me  leisurely.     To-night 
I  would  you  had  some  great  romance, 
Of  Sappho,  Dido,  or,  perchance, 
Some  later  lover  ;  one  who  knew 
The  purple  glory  of  proud  blood, 
And  lived  and  died  for  sweet  love's  sake  . 
Pray  make  that  bird  be  silent ! 

Take 

This  mantle,  girl,  of  silk  and  gold, 
And  throw  it  over  him,  and  hold 
His  pretty  song  a  prisoner  .  .  . 
Where  was  I  ?     Oh,  the  lovers.     You, 
I  think,  have  read  Zenobia  through 
These  three  nights  past.     Yet  as  for  her — 
She  hardly  made  my  strong  blood  stir — 
You  see  her  picture  there  ?     And  there 
Is  Sappho,  Egypt.     Everywhere 
Grand,  storied,  pictures  of  the  great 
Of  my  own  sex,  who  knew  to  hate, 
Or  love,  which  is  indeed  the  same, 
Yet  not  one  shade  that  bears  man's  name, 


ON    FIFTH    AVENUE.  163 

Read  me  some  reckless  love  and  true; 
Some  star-touched  woman's  soul,  that  drew 
Earth's  magnets  to  its  stormy  height. 
Yea,  give  me  tiger's  meat  to-night  ; 
Some  Cleopatra  who  disdained 
All  little  ways  of  life,  and  grew 
To  top  the  pyramids,  and  reigned, 
Still  reigns  a  wider  realm  than  all 
Rome  ever  knew  in  rise  or  fall. 

"  Come,  wheel  my  cushion  softly,  far 
To  yon  dim  alcove,  where  the  light 
Falls  freely,  and  the  lofty  frown 
Of  pictured  Hercules  in  war 
Shall  look  my  restless  spirit  down, 
And  hush  my  longings  for  the  night. 

"  There  !   let  me  rest.     Unloose  my  gown. 

My  heart,  my  very  soul  seems  bound 

And  bridled  in  these  silken  ropes 

And  corded  things.     O,  my  free  woods ! 

My  raging  seas  !  my  flowing  floods  ! 

My  wood-built  vales.  .  .  .  my  dreams,  my  hopes — 

There,  there  !  go,  go  !    I  bade  you  go 

Long  since.     Why  stare  you  so  ? 


164  ON    FIFTH    AVENUE. 

"  O,  heaven  !  If  I  had  but  one 

To  talk  to  of  my  battles  done. 

But  one  poor  mind  to  sympathize, 

Or  understand  my  hopes  or  fears, 

Or  know  why  tears,  hot,  drowning  tears, 

Come  sometime  tiding  to  my  eyes 

Not  one  to  love. 

I  cannot  buy 

With  all  this  wealth  one  soul  to  trust, 
And  to  the  bitter  end  I  must 
Live  out  this  gilded,  splendid  lie. 

"  That  mocking,  flaunting  moonlight  falls 
With  brazen  harshness  through  the  gold 
And  damask  of  yon  curtain's  fold, 
And  flaunts  me  in  my  very  halls. 

"  And  all  this  richly-figured  floor 
That  sinks  like  velvet  to  rny  feet 

Lies  stiff,  as  if  my  winding-sheet 

That  moonlight  lies  like  bright  steel  bar 
And  heavy  on  my  heart.     Afar 
I  hear  the  rolling  town  once  more 
Strike  steel  to  stone. 

"O,  God!  to  sleep! 


ON    FIFTH    AVENUE.  165 

0  that  my  weary  feet  could  stray 
But  once  again  in  that  vast  deep 
And  distant  wild  land  of  delight, 
Where  men  take  hardly  note  of  night 
And  night  deals  generous  with  day. 

1  will  return  again — nay,  nay  ! 

What  queen  shall  rule  this  realm  but  I  ? 

Who  looks  back  perishes  !     My  way 

Lies  open  and  inviting  now. 

My  feet  are  strong  ;  upon  my  brow, 

My  dark  and  ample  brow  is  set 

The  brightest  star  in  social  sky, 

And  it  shall  wear  the  coronet. 

"My  soul,  stay  with  me,  nor  forget: 

Stay  with  me,  nor  return  again 

To  land  of  seas  and  wild,  white  rain, 

Until  I  gain  the  coronet  ; 

Let  Doughal  sleep  his  well-earned  sleep 

With  wild  beasts  'neath  the  sundown  deep. 

My  face  is  front,  my  brow  is  set 

For  conquest  and  a  coronet." 


1 66  ON    FIFTH    AVENUE. 


XIV. 

Two  strange  ships  on  an  unknown  sea, 
That  counter  sail,  to  God  knows  where, 
May  meet,  but  pass  not  instantly. 
The  very  fact  of  being  there 
Proves  them  of  common  lot,  a  life 
In  battled  elements  and  strife ; 
And  they  will  break  their  loneliness, 
And  bow  white  sails  across  the  sea, 
Though  they  should  prove,  at  last,  to  be 
But  common  in  their  dark  distress. 
Two  ships  oft  met  on  this  lone  main ; 
The  Baroness,  Sir  Francis  Jain. 

How  these  digressions  do  disgust 
And  weary  you  !     You  much  mistrust 
The  man  has  little  fruit  to  show 
Who  plucks  wild  flowers  as  you  go, 
And  loiters  at  his  garden  gate, 
And  seems  to  halt  and  hesitate 
To  lead  right  up  the  path  to  where 
His  fruits  hang  ripest  and  most  fair. 


ON    FIFTH    AVENUE.  167 

We  will  return,  and  not  again 
Depart  the  path.     Perhaps  with  pain 
I  see  the  dull  conclusion.     I 
Would  dally  by  the  way,  would  lie 
Forever  on  the  common  grass, 
And  let  the  vulgar,  panting  pass. 

Nay,  haste  not  like  the  hired  slave  ; 
Take  life's  good  as  you  go,  my  friend. 
Haste  not,  haste  not.     Behold !  the  end 
Of  each  man's  road  is  in  a  grave. 


XV. 

Sir  Francis  and  his  lady  fair 
Rode  far  from  out  the  Park  and  town. 
A  star  was  in  her  midnight  hair, 
Her  hand  shone  with  a  starry  stone 
That  lit  their  bridle  path  at  night. 
Like  some  tall  shepherd,  shepherding 
His  flock  upon  the  soundless  flood, 
A  far  ship  anchored,  tall  and  white. 
The  snapping  bat  was  on  the  wing, 


r68  ON    FIFTH    AVENUE. 

A  dog  howled  from  the  distant  wood  ; 
And  right  and  left,  and  white  and  lone, 
Some  mighty  marbles  ghostly  stood. 

'Twas  night,  and  yet  it  was  not  dark. 

They  long  had  passed  broad  Central  Park  ; 

And  yet  they  rode  on  silently, 

Until  the  great,  white-girdled  moon, 

As  soft  as  summer  afternoon, 

Came  wheeling  up  the  sea,  and  lay 

Her  broad,  white  shoulders  bare  as  day  ; 

As  if  at  some  fair,  festal  ball 

Of  gathered  stars  at  carnival. 

He  reined,  he  turned  him  home  at  last, 

Yet  scarce  a  word  his  lips  had  passed. 

And  at  his  side  his  lady,  she 

Rode  silent  and  as  wrapt  as  he ; 

Rode  still  and  constant,  as  if  she 

Had  been  his  guardian  angel,  bound 

To  lead  him  through  some  dark  profound. 

His  soul  was  as  some  ship  that  drew 
All  silent  through  the  burst  of  seas, 
Pursuing  some  far  distant  star 


ON    FIFTH    AVENUE.  169 

That  spun  unfixed  forever  through 
The  boundless  upper  seas  of  blue. 
She  seemed  so  near,  and  yet  so  far. 
Just  now  she  seemed  as  near  as  woe  ; 
Just  now  she  seemed  as  far  as  though 
They  dwelt  in  the  antipodes. 

They  silent  rode.     She  looked  away, 
As  one  that  had  no  word  to  say. 
She  had  her  secret,  this  he  knew  ; 
Yet  ofttime  in  the  night  alone, 
He  waked  and  wondered  if  the  true 
And  heart-pent  history  was  known — 
If  painted  in  its  blackest  hue, 
'Twould  make  a  shadow  to  his  own. 


Two  strange,  uncommon  souls  were  these 
That  silent  sailed  uncompassed  seas. 
Far  out  from  any  ship  or  shore, 
Far  out  from  reef  or  breakers'  roar. 
Where  ships  of  commerce  never  drew 
A  keel,  these  two  ships  crossed,  and  knew 
Each  other  as  they  sailed  alone, 
And  on,  to  under  worlds  unknown. 


i;o  ON    FIFTH    AVENUE. 

O  golden,  sacred  silentness  ! 
Take  thou  the  silver  coin  of  speech, 
And  bribe  your  way  to  hearts,  so  less 
Than  hearts  the  silences  shall  reach. 

Two  strangers  rode  in  silence  down 
Against  the  sounding,  teeming  town  ; 
Two  strangers.     Yet  two  souls  that  knew 
Heart  histories  far  better  than 
The  wisest  and  profoundest  may 
That  ever  read  earth's  archives  through. 

Didst  ever  think  how  souls  have  size 
And  weight  and  measure  in  God's  eyes, 
So  other  than  the  weight  and  span 
And  measure  given  them  by  man  ? 

Why,  there  be  hunchback  souls  that  stand 
Beside  tall  souls,  broad-browed  and  grand  ; 
And  these  bend  ever,  and  look  down 
Upon  the  great  soul's  rumpled  gown, 
And  see  upon  its  trail  a  stain, 
Obtained,  perchance,  in  some  great  fight, 
In  silent  battle  for  the  right ; 


ON    FIFTH    AVENUE.  171 

And  then  they  mock  and  make  complain, 
And  wagging  point  the  world  the  stain. 

Then  there  be  shallow  souls  that  seem 
To  foam  along  like  shallow  stream, 
As  if  they  feared  the  while  you  would 
Forget  that  they  had  ever  been, 
Did  they  not  keep  their  clang  and  din: 
And,  come  to  think,  perhaps,  you  should. 

In  middle  heaven  moved  the  moon. 

Still  slow  they  rode  and  silently, 

Till  sudden  distant  thunder  fell 

From  out  fair  heaven.     Like  a  knell 

Of  some  departed  afternoon, 

That  dying,  leaves  a  heritage 

Of  undivided  memory 

Of  most  delicious  love,  it  fell 

Upon  the  wrapt  Sir  Francis  Jain 

And  startled  him.     He  threw  the  gage 

To  fate,  rose  full,  clutched  at  his  rein, 

Struck  heel  to  flank,  threw  back  his  hair, 

Spoke  loud,  and  laughed  with  careless  air 

Of  tempest  driving  up  the  skies, 

And  lifting  unto  her,  his  eyes, 


I72  ON    FIFTH    AVENUE. 

At  touch  of  large,  slant  drops  of  rain, 

He  gathered  up  his  strength  again, 

And  strange,  far  thought,  that  still  would  roam, 

And  plunged  and  led  right  hard  for  home. 

The  desolation  of  the  plain, 
The  perfect  solitude,  the  reign 
Of  ghosts  and  spirits  of  the  dark 
Came  down.     The  tempest's  wild  complain 
Was  monsterlike.     The  driving  rain 
And  loud-voiced  furies  rode  the  air. 
No  lamp,  no  light,  stood  out  that  night, 
No  star  in  heaven  set  a  mark — 
'Twas  darkness,  darkness,  everywhere. 
They  pierced  the  middle  of  the  Park. 
Their  road  led  underneath  the  ground  ; 
The  arches  echoed  far,  profound. 
The  winding  paths  led  in  and  out, 
The  tempest  rode  in  merry  rout  ; 
They  rode  against  the  slanting  rain, 
They  rode  a  circle  round  and  round, 

And  rode  in  circle  yet  again. 

\ 

And  still  they  rode,  still  round  and  round, 
By  darkling  arch,  beneath  the  ground, 


ON    FIFTH    AVENUE.  173 

The  while  the  hoofs  kept  clanging  sound. 
At  last  quite  wild  and  quite  worn  out, 
Sir  Francis  turned  and  gave  a  shout 
From  underneath  an  arch.     From  out 
A  deeper  arch,  a  cave,  hard  by, 
There  came  a  sharp,  responding  cry. 

"Ho  !  ho  !    A  call  for  help.     We  come  t 
Come  !  Up  !  my  comrades  ;  follow  me  !  " 
Sir  Francis  turned  his  head,  and  he 
Stood  still,  as  one  struck  stark  and  dumb  ; 
For  lightnings  fell  in  sheets  just  then, 
And  showed  a  line  of  surly  men. 

But  these  Sir  Francis  heeded  not ; 
His  flashing  eyes  the  instant  fell 
Upon  their  leader  ;  one  who  stood 
The  tallest  tree  of  some  dark  wood. 
He  stood  as  one  that  time  forgot, 
Or  feared  to  tackle,  or  to  lay 
A  hand  upon — he  stood  so  well, 
That  time  went  by  the  other  way. 

And  still  Sir  Francis  sat  and  sat 

His  steed,  and  stared  and  stared  thereat. 


174  ON    FIFTH    AVENUE. 

He  looked  right  in  the  robber's  face, 
Who  stood  and  boldly  stood  his  place  ; 
The  while  the  men  drew  circle  round, 
And  made  secure  their  vantage-ground. 

Their  leader  bowed  and  stepped  before 
Sir  Francis,  and  laid  hold  the  rein. 
He  bade  the  lady  pass  ;  she  passed, 
Then  turned,  and  peering  glances  cast. 
His  lifted  brow  was  white  and  broad, 
His  presence  like  a  demigod. 
He  was  all  coolness — leisure  now, 
He  shook  his  brown  locks  from  his  brow, 
Half  smiled,  and  blandly  bowed  again  ; 
And  then  he  turned,  stern  raised  a  hand, 
Toward  his  men,  gave  some  command, 
Held  high  his  lamp  before  Sir  Jain, 
Half  laughed,  then  smiling,  bowed  again. 

Again  he  jerked  his  lantern  high, 
Half  turned,  and  heard  the  lady's  cry, 
The  while  she  sat  her  steed  hard  by. 
Quite  lowly  then  he  bowed  once  more, 
And  stepping  back,  with  bended  head 
And  courteous  bearing,  gaily  said 


ON    FIFTH    AVENUE.  175 

He  did  most  certainly  deplore 

The  state  of  weather  ;  'twas  severe  ; 

A  sort  of  equinox,  he  thought ; 

He  said  to-morrow  surely  ought 

In  conscience,  to  be  bright  and  clear, 

For  sunshine  surely  follows  rain  ; 

Then  turned  him  to  Sir  Francis  Jain. 

He  haughty  bowed  his  broad,  high  head, 
And  in  the  Queen's  best  English,  said  : 
"  But*  now  this  weather  question,  sir — 
The  winds,  the  rains,  the  sudden  rise 
Of  choler  in  the  angered  skies  ; 
The  fall  of  the  barometer, 
The  storms  by  land,  the  calms  by  seas, 
Are  fixed  by  Probabilities  ! 

"  You  meet  your  neighbor  now  at  morn, 
Shake  hands,  how-how,  then  hesitate. 
You  first  look  fluttered,  then  forlorn. 
You  cannot  speak.     You  know  the  great 
Eternal  question  now  is  done. 
Six  thousand  years  men  met  together 
And  calmly  talked  about  the  weather, 
But  now,  the  papers  run  the  sun. 


176  ON    FIFTH    AVENUE. 

A  man  asks,  ( Will  it  rain  to-day  ?  ' 
Give  him  two  cents  and  go  your  way. 

"  And  you,  my  friend,  if  you  had  thought 
This  evening  as  you  galloped  out 
And  hailed  a  poor  newsboy  and  bought 
A  first-class  paper,  why,  no  doubt 
The  small  investment,  sir,  had  been 
A  big  investment  for  your  tin. 

"  And  this  reminds  me,  by-the-way, 
That  tin  is  what  we  want.     I  know, 
A  very  common  want  to-day. 
But  so  extravagant,  and  so 
Exacting  are  the  ladies,  and 
So  many  are  the  needs  of  men 
To  hold  respect  and  have  a  place 
In  woman's  heart — 

Ah  !  madam,  I, 

I  do  assure  you,  I  had  rather  die 
Than  make  offense,  or  so  disgrace 
Myself  and  fellows,  as  to  stand 
In  your  sweet  presence  here  and  say 
One  word  against  the  sex  for  which 
We  hazard  all.     Yes,  madam  !  you 


ON    FIFTH    AVENUE.  177 

Can  hardly  think  what  men  pull  through 
To  be  illustrious,  grand,  or  rich  ; 
To  please  you,  charm  you,  win  the  prize 
Of  love,  in  love's  enchanting  eyes  ! 

"  And,  sir  !  I  end  as  I  begin, 
By  hinting,  I  am  out  of  tin. 
But  not  for  self,  believe  me,  sir, 
I  make  demand,  but  all  for  her. 

"The  ships  that  plow  the  foamy  track, 
The  mines  that  open  mouths  of  gold, 
The  smoke  of  battle  rolling  back, 
Enshrouding  thousands  stark  and  cold, 
The  tracking  of  the  trackless  climes, 
The  thousand  crowns,  the  thousand  crimes 
Of  man,  the  woman-worshiper — 
All  won  or  done  alone  for  her. 

"  But,  lady,  please  pass  on  a  pace  ; 
Pray  climb  that  ridge  above  the  moat, 
The  truth  is,  being  gentle-born,  you  see, 
The  presence  of  a  lady's  face 
It  always  did  embarrass  me 
Whene'er  I  meant  to  cut  a  throat. 
12 


178  ON    FIFTH    AVENUE. 

"Nay,  nay,  pass  on.     I  do  but  jest. 

'Tis  one  of  my  rough,  playful  pranks  ; 

I  only  have  a  slight  request 

To  make  of  this,  your  gallant  knight ; 

And  I,  in  truth,  am  too  polite 

To  talk  of  business  in  the  sight 

Of  ladies.     Ah  !  thanks,  madam,  thanks  ! 

I  will  not  keep  you  long.     The  night 

Is  damp.     Then  'tis  so  very  late, 

'Twere  impolite  to  make  you  wait. 

"And  now,  sir,  one  word  with  you,  I  pray, 

Be  you  banker,  merchant,  what  you  may  ; 

I  read  you  truly  this  prophesy. 

And  profit  who  may  ;  it  is  naught  to  me  ; 

But  go  on  as  you  go,  and  your  tramps  shall  be, 

In  a  few  years  more,  your  majority. 

Your  bold,  bad  merchants  of  the  vote, 

The  politician  with  his  hand 

Clutched  tight  around  the  country's  throat, 

While  helpless  millions  weeping  stand 

And  shiver  in  their  rags  before 

The  silent,  closed,  and  mouldy  door, 

Of  factory  and  busy  mill, 

With  loom  and  spindle  rusting  still 


ON    FIFTH    AVENUE.  179 

That  make  sweet  melody  no  more — 
These  men  they  nothing  risk  at  all 
Save  reputation.     And  take  note 
That  that  is  most  exceeding  small. 
Now,  sir,  we  pay  you  our  respects 
Like  men.     We  rob,  but  do  not  lie. 
"We  take  your  purses  openly, 
We  rob,  but  also  risk  our  necks. 

"  Ah  !  so  you  would  proceed.     No  doubt ! 
Nay,  stop  !    Stand  sir !    Stand  !    Take  out 
That  quick  right  hand  that  you  have  just 
This  moment  in  your  bosom  thrust ! 
Take  out  your  hand  !     No  ?    Shall  it  be 
Purse  ?  or  pistol  ?     Look  at  me  ! 
You  see  I  do  not  flinch.     My  face 
Is  lifted  unto  yours. 

My  place 

Is  peril's  front.     I  know  not  fear. 
You  have  the  drop.     Then  slay  me  here, 
And  gallop  into  town  and  they 
Will  name  you  hero  of  the  day. 

"  Now  draw  !  Shoot  centre  !   deadly,  true  ! 
What,  sir  ?    Your  purse  !   By  heaven,  you 


i8o  ON   FIFTH   AVENUE. 

Were  born  a  king  !     Whom  can  you  be, 
To  bravely  spare  a  man  like  me  ? 
Where  drew  you  breath  ? 

I  know  but  one — 
But  one  lone  man  beneath  the  sun 
Who  thus  could  turn  and  scornfully 
Give  back  the  life  that  clutched  at  his, 
And  with  it,  purse  well  filled  as  this. 

"  And  that  one  man,  he  wore  a  chain 
For  many  a  long  year  at  my  side 
In  wild  Australia. 

And  that  name  ? 

My  true  chain-fellow — chained  in  shame — 
I  speak  it  with  a  lofty  pride — 
'Twas  Jain,  Sir  Jain  !  Sir  Francis  Jain  ! 

"  Nay,  nay,  my  lady  !    Start  not  so  ! 
No  harm  shall  happen  him,  I  swear. 
Stand  back,  my  men !     Now  may  he  go  ; 
There  is  a  wildness  in  his  air 
That  even  I  would  hardly  dare 
To  trifle  with. 

Stand  wide,  my  men, 
And  lift  your  hats  with  gallant  grace  : 


ON    FIFTH    AVENUE.  181 

We  shall  not  see  his  like  again. 
Come  !  let  my  lantern  strike  his  face  ! 
Now  as  he  gallops  from  the  place  ; 
And  note  him  well,  that  after  this 
No  harm  shall  hap  to  him  or  his  ; 
And  mark — 

By  heaven,  it  is  Jain ! 
'Tis  Jain,  'tis  Jain  !  Sir  Francis  Jain  ! 
Come  back  !    Come,  take  your  gold  ;  why,  I — 
I  would  not  touch  it  though  I  die. 

"You  will  not  turn  !     Then  take  the  right 

Upon  the  rise.     You  see  the  light 

Above  the  city's  centre  rise 

Like  London,  dashing  all  the  skies  ? 

Then  ride  for  that.     Ride  straight,  and  you 

Will  strike  the  lighted  Avenue  ; 

And  mind,  sir  Jain — Sir  Francis  Jain, 

Some  morrow  eve  we  meet  again. 

This  ready  gold  will  guide  me  through  ; 

I,  I,  the  learned  young  Greek,  and  you, 

The  lion  of  the  Avenue  ; 

I,  I,  the  patriot  Greek,  denied — 

Gods  !  they  are  gone  !  hear  how  they  ride  ! " 


1 82  ON  FIFTH  AVENUE. 


XVI. 

Sir  Francis*  face  was  on  his  hand. 
His  eyes  looked  blankly,  helpless  down  ; 
His  brow  was  dark  with  sullen  frown. 
His  hair  was  tumbled  wildly,  and 
His  face  was  flushed  as  one  that  wept, 
And  yet  wept  not,  nor  waked,  nor  slept. 

A  pistol  nestled  close  beside 
A  nervous  and  outreaching  hand  ; 
A  thing  familiar  and  long  tried, 
That  waited  as  for  some  command. 

He  rose  and  slowly  walked  the  floor, 
Then  sat  him  down  and  swiftly  wrote, 
With  fevered  hand,  a  hurried  note. 
Then  quick  he  rose,  and  clutched  and  tore 
What  he  had  writ,  and,  still  in  frown, 
Strode  long  and  thoughtful  up  and  down. 

At  last  he  stopped,  as  one  outworn, 
Sat  down,  took  up  the  fragments  torn, 


(  A^lc 

ON  FIFTH  AVEN&Er-  183 

And  sadly  smiled.     And  now  he  caught 
Convulsively,  as  racked  with  pain, 
The  pen,  spread  out  the  page  again, 
And  wrote  as  one  made  mad  with  thought. 

"  Farewell,  farewell,  yet  not  farewell. 
I  know  the  sullen,  clanging  knell 
Of  clod  on  coffin-lid  means  all 
Is  over.     Yet  the  bleeding  heart 
Is  oft  too  wounded  to  depart, 
And  so  creeps  in  the  buried  pall. 

"  Oh,  let  my  broken  heart  still  true, 
Come  back  with  olive  branch  to  rest 
From  thy  proud  presence.     This  were  best ; 
Oh,  this  were  best,  indeed,  for  you. 

"  Mine  ark  is  as  some  broken  bark, 
That  ever  buffets  storm.     The  dark 
Has  mantled  me.     My  fluttered  dove 
Went  forth  a  fond,  devoted  love. 
Now  give  it  peace  of  death  and  rest, 
Oh,  fair  and  faultless,  this  were  best. 

"  I  loved  you,  lady — love  you  now, 
With  love  intensified  to  pain  ; 


1 84  ON    FIFTH    AVENUE. 

But  we  must  never  meet  again. 
I  write  to  give  you  back  your  vow. 

"  Oh,  fair,  white  dove,  the  olive  bough, 
Lies  deep  submerged.     My  ship  drives  on 
In  deluge  and  in  darkness.     Night 
Has  compassed  me  at  last,  and  now 
Must  you  escape  and  live.     But  dawn 
Is  yours,  and  days  of  calm  delight. 

"Lo !  here  I  sit,  forlorn,  to-night, 
And  calmly  write  and  sign  for  you 
Mine  own  death-warrant. 

The  disdain 

Of  universal  earth  was  naught 
Had  you  but  hovered  in  my  sight. 
I  could  have  lived  in  you,  forgot 
The  deep  indignity,  the  stain, 
The  perils  my  young  life  passed  through, 
The  hard  reproaches  and  heart  pain. 
But  all  is  over. 

It  is  due 

To  your  position,  and  to  you, 
To  tell  you  I  am  that  same  Jain, 
The  convict  Jain,  Sir  Francis  Jain. 


ON    FIFTH    AVENUE.  185 

I  bore  that  name  because  it  was 
My  noble,  gentle,  father's  name ; 
A  name  renounced  the  day  he  wed 
My  mother,  and  brought  on  his  head 
A  father's  curse. 

In  pride  or  shame, 
I  wore,  and  I  shall  wear  that  name. 
I  love,  I  bear  that  name,  because 
It  was  my  sire's — all  that  he 
In  dying  could  bequeath  to  me. 

"I  would  not  palliate,  nor  claim 
One  touch  of  tenderness,  no  tear 
From  you,  fair  girl  ;  from  any  one 
Beneath  the  broad,  all-seeing  sun. 
But  I  would  have  you  know  that  name 
Is  my  real  name  ;  that  it  is  dear  ; 
That  I  have  worn  it  e'er,  my  friend, 
Unshamed,  and  so  shall  to  the  end. 

"  I  might  have  worn  a  nobler  still, 
Indeed  might  now,  the  lord  of  Rude. 
But  mine  own  proud,  impatient  will, 
It  rose  and  led  me  on,  and  hewed 
Another  path. 


i86  ON    FIFTH    AVENUE. 

In  solitude 

My  sire's  sire  childless  weeps, 
And  waits,  and  mournful  vigil  keeps 
For  my  return.     I  cannot  bear 
Nor  brook  the  thought  to  turn  me  there, 
To  front  again  that  iron  face, 
That  let  my  father  helpless  die 
Because  he  wed  a  peasant  wife, 
And  chose  a  lowly  walk  in  life — 
That  let  my  dying  mother  lie 
In  hovel  and  alone,  while  I 
For  battling  for  my  mother's  race 
Prayed  death  from  prison  and  disgrace.  . 

"  O  sea-green  glory  of  the  sea  ; 
Sweet  isle  of  song  and  history, 
And  fair-haired  woman,  with  a  grace 
Of  heaven  in  thy  lighted  face — 
Thou,  Erin,  I  was  true  to  thee.  .  .  . 


"We  sometimes  laugh  so  loud  that  we 
From  very  joy  must  turn  and  weep. 
The  world  is  round.     Extremes  must  meet. 
We  sometimes  mourn  so  very  deep 


ON    FIFTH    AVENUE.  187 

That  we  do  laugh  hysterically, 
As  if  the  bitter  had  been  sweet. 

•  •  •  •  "  It  comes  to  be  my  strange  belief, 
From  what  my  life  has  heard  and  seen, 
That  you  may  bend  your  ear,  and  you 
May  whisper  soft  as  far-off  bird, 
Against  the  wall  that  lifts  between 
Intensest  joy,  intensest  grief, 
And  so  be  quite  distinctly  heard. 
The  world  is  round.     Extremes  must  meet. 
The  sweet  is  bitter ;  bitter  sweet. 

"  Why,  I  sit  smiling  now.     The  tears 
That  had  been  prisoned  long,  long  years, 
Hard  frozen — that  refused  to  flow 
For  mine  or  for  my  father's  woe, 
Have  flowed  to-night  in  streams  above 
The  grave  of  this  new-buried  love.  .  .  . 

"  Tis  pitiful,  'tis  painful.     Yet 
With  all  this  agonized  regret, 
That  all  is  o'er,  there  has  come 
A  strange,  uncommon  sense  of  rest. 
My  feet  shall  rest.     My  lips  be  dumb, 


i88  ON    FIFTH    AVENUE. 

For  earth  has  nothing  I  request. 

And  now  to  life's  conclusion  must 

My  lips  be  stopped  as  stopped  with  dust. 

"  As  one,  far  traversing  the  West, 
Finds  some  vast  sea  and  troubled  wave, 
Some  trackless  sea  of  boundless  shore 
That  shuts  the  world  he  would  explore, 
And  so  sits  down  and  digs  his  grave, 
And  calmly  waits  his  final  rest, 
So  I  sit  waiting,  sad,  yet  fond, 
Half  glad  that  earth  has  naught  beyond. 

"  Not  one  fair  foot-print  marks  my  shore. 
The  Sea  stretched  forth  his  cold,  white  hands, 
And  leveled  smooth  the  shining  sands 
Where  your  feet  passed  the  day  before. 
Now  all  lies  blank.     I,  now,  no  more 
Shall  look  before.     Let  me  look  back 
Along  my  lone  life's  dubious  track. 

"  I  had  a  friend,  one  friend,  who  stood 
Like  some  high-lifted,  lighted  tower, 
Above  the  stormy,  sea-foam  flood 
On  peril's  front,  in  peril's  hour. 


ON    FIFTH    AVENUE.  189 

Oh,  lady,  know  you  what  it  is 
To  know  unskaken  soul  like  this  ? 

"  The  stakes  were  freedom  and  renown. 

God's  freedom  to  the  grandest  race 

That  ever  groaned  in  the  disgrace 

Of  foreign  court  and  foreign  crown. 

'Twas  freedom  or  a  felon's  chain. 

We  staked  and  lost.  .  .  .  We  would  again. 

"  My  fellow-captive  was  my  friend  ; 
A  braver,  nobler  man  than  I ; 
A  man  who  ever  sought  to  die, 
And  so  lives  on  unto  the  end. 
You  ask  me  where  may  now  abide 
This  friend  so  chivalrous,  so  tried  ? 
This  man  so  braver,  nobler  born, 
Who  held  all  rank  in  splendid  scorn  ? 

"  Hold  back  your  face.     You  may  not  care 
To  hear  his  name  and  place  till  you 
Have  seen  how  faithful  and  how  true 
He  was,  and  what  his  soul  could  dare 
In  deadly  circumstance,  or  how 
He  grew  the  knave  I  find  him  now. 


190  ON    FIFTH    AVENUE. 

"  Why,  we  were  chained — chained  hand  to  hand 

And  in  this  prison  men  t  we  grew 

In  firmer  friendship  than  they  knew  ; 

And,  spite  of  hard  oppression,  stood 

Like  two  tall  poplars  of  the  wood, 

Half  wedded,  for  he  was  more  grand 

Than  proudest  noble  of  the  land. 


"At  last  one  night  we  broke  this  chain, 
In  wild  Australian  fortress.     We 
Could  only  hear  the  tumbling  sea 
Break  hard  against  the  beetling  wall, 
And  lift  and  fall,  and  that  was  all  ; 
We  knew  not  where  we  were,  no  more 
Than  midnight  storm  of  driving  rain 
That  beat  the  sea  and  shook  the  shore. 


"  We  reckless  climbed  the  beetling  wall, 
Down  which  it  seemed  a  ghost  would  fall. 
And  when  we  breathed  free  air  again, 
And  when  we  touched  the  fields  and  fled, 
While  I  crept  by  as  one  nigh  dead, 
Why,  every  loose  link  of  my  chain, 
The  iron  ball  I  dragged  in  pain, 


ON    FIFTH    AVENUE.  191 

He  bore  upon  his  shoulders  broad 
All  day,  as  if  some  demigod. 

"  We  broke  the  chains  anew,  and  then 
Once  more  were  free,  unfettered  men. 
But  cursed  chains  leave  a  trail  and  trace 
Sometime,  that  years  shall  not  efface. 

"  At  last,  outworn  and  faint  we  stood 
Far  off  against  the  upland  wood, 
Where  stretched  two  dim,  dividing  trails. 
One  led  o'er  mountains,  one  through  vales, 
And  all  were  as  unknown  to  me 
As  unnamed  isles  of  middle  sea. 

"  We  knew  no  road,  no  sign,  or  chart ; 

Knew  naught  at  all.     We  only  knew 

That  there  would  be  a  deadly  chase 

O'er  mountain  height,  by  mountain  base. 

We  bore  full  heritage  of  hate, 

For  we  were  leaders  ;  were  the  two 

That  stood  as  pillars  to  the  gate 

Of  freedom,  while  the  brave  passed  through. 

"  We  knew  that  we  must  instant  part, 
Take  divers  ways,  in  hopes  that  one 


192  ON    FIFTH    AVENUE. 

Might  grope  the  tangled  jungle  through, 
And  with  a  bold,  unbroken  heart 
Escape,  to  undertake  anew 
The  work  we  nobly  had  begun. 

"  He  bade  me  take  my  choice  of  trails. 

I  did  refuse.     Pie  smiling  drew 

A  halfpence  forth,  and  gaily  threw 

Our  only  fortune  in  the  air. 

*  Come  !  choose,  my  comrade  !     Heads  or  tails  ?' 

How  he  did  counterfeit  the  care 

That  burrowed  deep  his  mighty  heart ! 

I  knew  his  heart  was  breaking — knew 

The  while  that  all  this  dash  and  dare 

Was  done  for  me,  to  make  me  bear 

With  fortitude,  my  further  part. 

I  chose.     And  so  we  parted  there 

That  instant,  with  one  last  embrace, 

All  silent,  with  averted  face. 

"  Through  lonely  vales  he  took  his  flight ; 
My  way  led  up  the  mountain  height ; 
And  mark  what  followed  :     Weak  and  worn, 
My  body  bent,  my  bare  feet  torn, 
I  sought  safe  shelter  for  the  night 


ON    FIFTH    AVENUE.  193 

In  densest  copse  along  the  height, 
Where  great  rocks  rose  above  a  cave, 
As  if  to  guard  some  giant's  grave. 


"  I  gathered  sticks,  struck  flint  and  steel, 
And  when  the  flames  leapt  up,  behold  ! 
The  cave  was  one  vast  mass  of  gold — 
More  gold  than  England's  vaults  conceal  ! 
To  only  think  that  all  this  dross 
Depended  on  a  copper's  toss. 

"  I  gathered  gold.     In  pain  and  fear, 
I  sought  the  sea  with  burdened  hands — 
I  bribed  my  way  to  better  lands  ; 
But  secret  I  returned  each  year, 
To  seek  my  comrade  far  and  wide, 
And  up  and  down  ;  and  all  in  vain. 
Each  year  I  gathered  heaps  of  gold 
From  my  great  coffers  hidden  deep, 
"Where  spotted  tigers  house  and  sleep. 
I  gave — gave  generous  and  bold 
As  Caesar,  so  to  bribe,  reward 
The  sheep-men,  officers  or  guard, 

To  bring  me  my  lost  friend  again. 
13 


i94  ON    FIFTH    AVENUE. 

They  told  me  he  had  surely  died 

From  beasts  or  flood.     They  lied  !  they  lied, 

"  Forgive  me,  love.     Yea,  pity  me. 
Man's  face  is  fronted  to  a  wall. 
He  prophesies  to-morrows.     All 
His  days,  he  plans  of  days  to  be ; 
And  yet,  poor  fool,  he  cannot  see 
One  inch  before,  around,  or  o'er 
The  wall  that  circles  him.     And  I 
Am  even  as  the  blindest.     Could 
I  foreknow  that  he  should  rise, 
Red-handed,  in  my  road  at  night, 
Arrayed  in  that  dark  robber's  guise? 

This  man  who  erst  stood  up  to  die 

For  honor's  sake  ? 

We  two  once  stood 

On  peril's  bristled  height  alone  ; 

We  two,  in  God's  high-lifted  light, 

Exulting  but  in  purity. 

Shall  I  desert  him  overthrown  ? 

Forsake  my  friend  because  his  soul 

Is  slimed  and  perishing  ? 

Ah,  me  ! 

'Twere  base  to  fly  and  leave  a  friend 


ON    FIFTH   AVENUE.  195 

.All  bleeding  on  the  battle-field, 
Without  one  shelt'ring  hand  or  shield 
To  help  when  battle's  thunders  roll. 

"  But  that  were  little.     Dying  there 

On  glory's  front,  with  trumpet's  blare, 

And  battle's  shout  blent  wild  about — 

The  sense  of  sacrifice,  the  roar 

Of  war,  the  soul  might  well  leap  out — 

The  snow-white  soul  leap  boldly  out 

The  door  of  wounds,  and  up  the  stair 

Of  heaven  to  God's  open  door, 

While  yet  the  hands  were  bent  in  prayer. 

But  ah  !  to  leave  a  soul  o'erthrown, 

And  doomed  to  slowly  die  alone ! 

"  The  body  is  not  much.     'Twere  best 
Take  up  the  soul  and  leave  the  rest. 
It  seems  to  me  the  man  who  leaves 
The  soul  to  perish,  is  as  one 
Who  gathers  up  the  empty  sheaves 
When  all  the  golden  grain  is  done. 

"  Farewell !     I  reach  this  man  the  hand 
That  had  been  yours,  that  he  may  stand. 


196  ON    FIFTH   AVENUE. 

Farewell !     Forget  me,  lest  you  hear 
The  world  your  love  insult  with  sneer. 
Farewell ;  this  robber  was  my  friend, 
Is  now,  and  shall  be  to  the  end. 

"  Farewell !     God  help  me  now.     For  such 
Hard  conflicts  tide  about  my  heart 
That  I  do  hesitate. 

The  part 

Of  man  is  in  the  ranks  to  die 
Hard  battling  for  the  shining  right ; 
But  when  all  things  partake  a  touch 
Of  darkness  and  a  touch  of  light, 
The  skein  comes  tangled.     Then  the  woof 
And  warp  of  life  proves  reason-proof. 
O  heaven !  for  a  sword  so  true 
Of  edge  that  I  might  cleave  this  through ! 

"  The  years  lift  like  a  stair.     Arise 
And  climb  the  stairway  to  the  skies, 
And  look  possession  of  the  world 
That  lies  quite  conquered  at  your  feet. 
Yet  range  not  far,  I  do  entreat ; 
Black  clouds  will  cross  the  fairest  skies, 
The  fullest  tides  must  ebb  and  flow  ; 


ON    FIFTH    AVENUE.  197 

The  proudest  king  that  e'er  unfurled 
His  banners,  met  his  overthrow. 

"  Farewell,  farewell  !  for  aye,  farewell. 

Yet  must  I  end  as  I  began. 

I  love  you,  love  you,  love  but  you — 

I  love  you  now  as  never  man 

Has  loved  since  man  and  woman  fell, 

Or  God  gave  man  inheritance, 

Or  sense  of  love,  or  any  sense. 

And  that  is  why,  O  love,  I  can, 

Lift  up  to  you  my  burning  brow 

To-night,  and  so  renounce  you  now." 


XVII. 

It  took  two  large,  brown  envelopes, 
Of  Congress-shape  ;  in  fact,  such  ones 
As  Congressmen  frank  home  by  tons, 
To  hold  this  tale  of  blighted  hopes. 

He  sealed  them  tight,  addressed  each  one, 
Then  licked  the  unlicked  Washington, 


198  ON  FIFTH  AVENUE. 

And  stamped  them  fully. 

Then  he  rose 

And,  feeling  really  he  had  done 
All  things  a  gentleman  could  do, 
He  rolled  a  cigarette. 

Then  unto 

This  fuse  he  plied  a  match,  and  blew 
A  booming,  double  volley  through 
His  lifted  and  beclouded  nose  ; 
As  if  some  double-barreled  gun 
Shot  at  the  ugly  world  below, 
The  cold,  cold,  cruel  world,  you  know. 

The  letters  sent,  he  paced  the  floor 
Impatiently,  and  until  morn, 
As  one  most  hopeless,  in  proud  scorn. 
What  would  she  do  ? 

What  could  he  more  ? 
These  things  he  questioned  o'er  and  o'er, 
Till  morn  made  answer  at  the  door. 

He  was  as  one  condemned  to  death, 
Who  respite  prays,  with  bated  breath, 
And  clutches  quick  and  breaks  the  seal 
To  see  what  fate  may  now  reveal. 


ON   FIFTH   AVENUE.  199 

He  snatched  this  from  the  messenger, 
And  read  these  hasty  lines  from  her. 

"  My  dear  Sir  Francis, 

Come  !  O  come  ! 

I  stand  with  arms  outstretched.     The  door 
Is  wider  even  than  before. 
My  eyes  droop  down,  my  lips  are  dumb, 
I  walk  all  time  the  empty  floor. 
I  will  not  sit  until  you  come. 

"  Is  love,  indeed,  a  little  thing 
To  be  put  by  at  time  like  this, 
While  we  stand  mute  and  wondering  ? 

0  come,  Sir  Francis  !  come  now,  come  ! 
Shall  my  life  round  to  this  small  sum  ? 
Shall  I  make  love  a  trade,  and  change, 
Childlike,  for  aught  that  falls  amiss, 
And  range  as  common  women  range  ? 

"  O,  do  not  think  me  over-bold  ! 
You  say  you  suffer  unto  death. 
Then  this  is  my  excuse.     The  cold 
And  cautious  world,  with  poison  breath, 

1  know  right  well  will  sentence  me 


200  FIFTH    AVENUE. 

To  infamy  for  this.     I  see 

No  other  road  of  duty.     So  I  dare 

Do  that  which  I  deem  fit  and  fair. 

"As  for  the  chains  and  prison's  shame, 
Take  no  reproach.     'Tis  nobler  far 
To  bear  defeat  than  shine  a  star 
In  circled  seat  of  rounded  fame. 
I  reach  my  hand  in  trust  to  you, 
I  give  unshaken  faith,  the  same 
As  when  you  rode  with  shining  name, 
The  lion  of  the  Avenue. 

"  I  give  all  this,  Sir  Francis  Jain. 
Pray  hold  it  not  in  proud  disdain. 
And  do  you  know  what  little  task 
My  love  in  full  return  shall  ask? 

"  Why,  it  is  this.     When  you  shall  stand 
Beside  me,  and  shall  hold  my  hand, 
And  I  shall  lift  my  happy  face 
Full  into  yours,  O  love,  then  you 
Shall  promise  that  if  e'er  disgrace 
Touch  me,  that  you  will  prove  as  true. 


ON    FIFTH    AVENUE.  201 

"  Think  thrice,  Sir  Francis,  ere  you  speak, 
For  time  is  strong  and  man  is  weak. 
Think  thrice,  then  come,  and  that  shall  be 
As  God'j*  own  covenant  to  me. 

"Now  bear  with  truth,  and  hear  me  through. 

I  am  a  liar,  traitor.     You 

Are  truth  itself  compared  to  one 

Who  calls,  heart-broken  and  undone. 

Your  truth  has  conquered  me,  for  now 

I  know  that  man  may  keep  a  vow. 

"  I  am  no  Baroness.     Nay,  I 
Am  an  impostor,  and  the  lie 
Is  crushing  me. 

There,  take  it  all ! 
You  hold  the  ladder.     Let  me  fall 
Or  hold  me  to  my  place,  and  you 
Shall  be  my  star  the  cycles  through. 

"Ah  !  you  despise  me.     That  you  may 
Despise  me  thoroughly,  I  pray 
Hear  this.     I  once  was  wed 
To  one  I  loved  as  never  man 
Was  loved  since  history  began. 


202  ON    FIFTH    AVENUE. 

He  left  me  to  my  death.     He  fled. 
But  he  is  dead,  thank  God,  is  dead. 

"  I  speak  it  earnestly.     And  yet 

I  cannot,  cannot  all  forget 

Of  that  great  love.     It  comes  to  me 

As  climbs  some  storm-sea  o'er  the  beach  ; 

Yea,  comes  like  some  great,  tidal  sea 

And  teems  and  drowns  my  topmost  reach. 

You  see,  O  love,  I  offer  you 

No  virgin  love,  yet  love  as  true. 

"  I  do  confess  the  world  is  dear, 

For  stormed  and  cruel  was  my  youth ; 

And  now  I  stand  low-humbled  here, 

Divested  of  my  crown,  as  one 

Who  hath  some  grand  reign  just  begun. 

The  world  is  dear  ;  but  dearer  truth, 

If  I  can  find  a  man  as  true, 

O  love,  to  challenge  truth,  as  you. 

"  My  broken  heart,  pierced  through  and  through, 
Throbs  audibly.     I  would  reveal 
Its  utmost  chamber  now  to  you 
And  not  one  sacred  niche  conceal.  , 


ON    FIFTH    AVENUE.  203 

And  you  have  all.*  My  weakness  is 
A  longing  for  a  love  like  this 
God  promised  me,  and  for  a  name, 
A  proud,  fair  name.     Shall  I  confess 
That  this  same  name,  the  Baroness, 
"Was  more  to  me,  is  dearer  yet, 
Than  gold  or  lands  ?    A  crown  of  shame, 
Alas  !  shall  be  my  coronet. 

"  Go  save  your  friend.     Give  him  the  hand 

That  had  been  mine.     Then  come  to  me, 

If  you,  through  all  eternity, 

Would  save  a  soul.      I  cannot  stand 

Alone.     This  well-established  lie 

Is  like  a  mill-stone  to  my  neck,  and  I 

Must  reach  some  solid  shore  or  die. 

"  Yet  if  there  lives  on  all  this  earth 
One  man  as  true,  yea,  half  as  true, 
Yea,  of  one-hundredth  part  the  worth 
As  this  same  friend  that  waits  for  you, 
Why  come,  if  you  despise  me  not, 
And  let  us  haste,  haste,  seek  the  spot 
Where  he  conceals,  and  reach  this  man     . 
Two  hands  ;  two  hands  !  for  surely  two, 


204  ON    FIFTH    AVENUE. 

Made  strong  with  love,  and  reaching  so, 
Were  stronger  for  his  poor  soul  than 
One  hand  made  weak  with  pain  and  woe." 

As  some  brief -banished  king  that  turns 
Rejoicing  to  resume  his  throne — 
As  some  bright  light  that  leaps  and  burns 
Above  the  darkness  when  the  blown 
Swift  winds  delight  the  leaping  flame, 
Sir  Francis,  fond  and  eager  came. 

For  he  had  groped  with  sorrow  through 
The  vale  of  desolation.     He 
Had  learned  how  rare  the  fountains  are 
On  life's  long,  level  desert.     Few 
Had  been  his  friends,  and  these  were  far 
Away  in  banishment.     He  knew, 
And  strange,  indeed,  how  few  there  be 
Who  know  how  rare  is  love  !     Ah  me  ! 
Who  know  the  half  way  worth  of  it ; 
Or  even  love's  delightful  counterfeit  1 


ON    FIFTH    AVENUE.  205 


XYIII. 

We  may  presume  Sir  Francis  swore 
To  do  all  she  bad  asked.     To  stand, 
As  she  had  stood,  with  reaching  hand ; 
To  help  and  to  protect,  if  e'er 
Scorn's  finger  dared  to  wag  at  her. 
Indeed,  no  doubt,  a  great  deal  more 
Was  promised  her,  as  he  leaned  o'er 
The  weeping  Niobe,  with  all 
The  sunrise  of  his  golden  hair 
Spilt  down  upon  the  deep  nightfall 
Of  her  dark  hair,  ungathered  there. 

'Twas  very  strange.     He  came  that  night 
,A.s  swift  as  love  ;   so  glad,  so  fleet, 
To  find  her  falling  at  his  feet, 
Her  face  all  tears,  her  full  neck  bare, 
And  all  her  black,  abundant  hair 
Torn  down  and  tossed  in  sorry  plight. 

sTwas  very  strange,  this  nervous  fit 
Of  hers.     Perhaps  a  bit  of  tact — 


206  ON    FIFTH    AVENUE. 

A  woman's  little  game.     In  fact, 
Had  it  not  seemed  so  very  strange, 
And  quite  outside  the  common  range, 
I  should  not  stop  to  mention  it. 

As  for  her  reasons,  you  must  know, 
I  scarce  know  aught  about  the  sex. 
An  humble  chronicler  am  I 
Of  facts.     I  cannot  stop  to  vex 
My  brain,  by  giving  reasons  why 
A  woman  will  do  thus  and  so. 

Gods  !     Come  to  think  of  it,  you  know, 
I  think  that's  more  than  she  could  do. 
But  I  would  just  suggest  that  you 
Should  bundle  up  these  facts,  and  go 
To  some  old  man  in  double  specs — 
Some  old,  old  man,  who  knows  the  sex. 
Find  some  experienced  old  man, 
The  very  oldest  that  you  can. 

The  morning  must  succeed  the  night. 
All  storms  subside.     The  clouds  drive  by. 
And  when  again  the  glorious  light 
From  heaven's  gate  comes  bursting  through, 


ON    FIFTH    AVENUE.  207 

Behold  !  the  rains  have  washed  the  sky 
As  bright  as  heaven's  bluest  blue. 


She  would  have,  weeping,  told  him  all, 
Each  name,  each  date,  each  circumstance, 
Her  father's  crimes,  the  bloody  chance 
That  brought  her  fortune,  wrought  her  fall . 
But  he,  he  would  not  hear  one  word, 
Nor  scarce  believed  what  he  had  heard. 

"My  ships  are  burned,  I  break  no  more 
The  hush  of  seas.     My  friend  is  found, 
And  all  my  life  shall  now  be  bound 
With  thee,  and  bounded  by  thy  shore. 
If  your  pure  heart  was  pierced  with  pain 
Of  love  that  you  can  scarce  forget, 
Remember  there  is  deeper  stain 
On  my  fair  fame  and  coronet." 

He  thought  a  time,  then  raised  his  head, 
And  in  a  deep,  firm  voice,  he  said, 
"  Now  let  the  dead  past  bury  its  dead. 
I  reach  my  hand,  and  over  all 
I  veil  the  dead  past  as  a  pall. 


2o8  ON    FIFTH    AVENUE. 

"Be  tranquil,  thou.    Persuade  thy  soul 
To  peace.     My  life  seems  perfect  now. 
Thy  broken  life  shall  be  made  whole ; 
My  friend  shall  lift  his  ample  brow, 
In  time,  and  climb  to  better  things, 
Supported  by  thine  angel   wings." 

O,  they,  indeed,  were  lovers  now, 

Fast  bound  by  many  a  breathless  vow 

And  promise,  seal-set,  o'er  and  o'er, 

On  ruddy  lips  and  lifted  brow, 

That  naught  should  ever  part  them  more. 

The  days  went  by  one  calm  delight, 

And  night  scarce  wore  the  shade  of  night. 


XIX. 

There  stands  a  sort  of  Chinese  box, 
A  pied-house,  topt  with  ginger-bread, 
And  speckled,  as  if  from  a  pox. 
An  imitation,  it  is  said, 
Of  the  Venetian.     That  may  be, 
For  it  looks  awfully  at  sea. 


ON    FIFTH    AVENUE.  209 

O,  pity  for  the  decent  blocks, 

Of  square,  and,  doubtless,  honest  rocks, 

That  make  this  mixed  and  mottled  pox. 

O,  shade  of  Michael  Angelo, 
Whom  only  death  set  in  the  shade  ! 
Forgive  my  countrymen,  and  O, 
Forget  their  large  contempt  of  thee  ; 
Forgive  their  crime's  enormity, 
In  all  these  piles  of  bricks  displayed. 

What  shame,  what  shame,  to  treat  earth  so  ! 

My  honest  builders,  do  you  know 

That  every  bit  of  brother  clay 

That  builds  a  wall  or  paves  a  way, 

Is  ever  struggling  to  express 

Some  gentler  form  of  loveliness  ? 

Behold  the  beauty  of  a  tree, 
A  leaf,  a  bud  ;  and  hearken,  ye — 
The  vilest  bit  of  stuff  that  falls, 
Takes  form  and  blossoms,  if  it  can, 
Along  the  lonesome  path  of  man, 
And  makes  earth  beautiful  to  see. 
But  O,  those  melancholy  walls  ! 
14 


210  ON    FIFTH    AVENUE. 

}Tis  hardly  treating  with  respect 
Your  brother  earth,  it  seems  to  me, 
To  give  it  such  deformity. 

I  beg  your  pardon.     We  return 
To  our  mutton,  sheep,  or  lambs — 
The  gentle  lambs,  whom  both,  I  learn, 
Are  going  to  the  crowded  jams 
In  that  pied-house,  where  men  have  sent 
A  thousand  pictures  to  a  Fair. 
I  speak  with  license,  understand  ; 
Perhaps  a  hundred  had  been  lent, 
But  then  a  thousand  sounds,  in  verse, 
Or  doggerel,  or  something  worse, 
More  rounded,  and  a  deal  more  grand. 


XX. 

A  ripple  rustled  through  the  crowd, 
Then  all  eyes  left  the  leaning  wall, 
And  all  did  reach  their  necks,  and  all 
Did  whisper  eagerly  and  loud. 


ON    FIFTH    AVENUE.  211 

She  leaned  reliant  on  hifc  arm, 

As  if  she  felt  that  never  harm 

Or  accident  or  any  shame 

Could  touch  her  now,  whatever  came. 

She  moved  beside  him  like  a  dream, 

And  calm  as  some  deep,  sea-bound  stream. 

A  dense  and  crowded  night  it  was. 
Now  bear  in  mind,  my  duty  is, 
And  was,  and  will  be,  touching  this, 
To  give  the  facts,  and  not  the  cause. 

Well,  they  were  packed  and  jammed  that  night, 

The  noblest  of  the  Avenue, 

Till  all  seemed  so  uncommon  tight, 

They  scarce  could  twist  them  through  and  through. 

I  know  not  why,  yet  one  might  guess, 
They  came  that  night  because  they  knew 
The  lion  and  the  lioness 
That  sultry  eve  would  come  to  view 
These  grand  gifts  of  the  Avenue. 

And  this  might  argue  there  were  spies 
To  tell  not  only  what  they  did, 


2i2  ON    FIFTH    AVENUE. 

But  what  they  meant  to  do. 

The  lid 

On  Dame  Pandora's  box,  or  Miss 
Pandora,  I  much  fear  me,  lies 
Quite  loose  and  careless  ;  blown  about 
By  any  counter  w^inds  that  rise  ; 
And  my  conclusion  of  it  is, 
The  greatest  evils  she  lets  out 
Are  lover's  secrets.     What  say  you, 
Fair  ladies  of  the  Avenue  ? 

The  lovers  passed  from  hall  to  hall, 
And  sudden,  in  a  bright  room,  faced 
A  man,  with  many  a  friend  around. 
'Twas  Doughal ;  he  whom  we  have  traced 
Through  flood  and  flame  ;  whom  we  have  found 
A  brigand,  cursed,  damned  and  disgraced. 
He  stood  up  comely,  proud  and  tall ; 
A  stalwart,  sort  of  second  Saul, 
A  man  that  overtopt  them  all. 

He  seemed  to  see,  yet  saw  her  not ; 
His  eyes  ranged  distant  as  his  thought. 
She  started,  shrunk  back  in  her  place, 
As  if  a  flame  had  struck  her  face. 


ON    FIFTH    AVENUE.  213 

"  'Tis  Doughal !  and  the  man  does  live  ! 
The  one  man  lives  that  now  can  give 
The  lie  to  my  pretentious  life, 
Before  I  be  Sir  Francis  wife ! 

"  Now  must  one  perish  :  'tis  not  I, 

But  cold,  cursed,  Doughal,  that  shall  die  ! " 

Sir  Jain  was  drunk  with  love.     He  bent 
His  head,  his  eyes  with  fond  intent 
But  did  not  hear  her,  did  not  see 
Her  grief,  nor  guess  her  agony. 

The  two  passed  on.     Her  face  was  white. 

Sir  Francis  nothing  saw  but  light 

And  love,  bright  shining  like  a  star 

In  his  broad  firmament  of  bliss. 

Men  are  not  shrewd  as  women  are  ; 

A  woman  feels  an  atmosphere, 

Sees  all,  where  men  see  naught  at  all. 

Her  instincts  lead  where  reasons  fall. 

Now  it  may  be  the  reason  is, 

Her  little  feet  are  set  more  near 

The  light  of  golden  gates  ajar. 


2i4  ON    FIFTH    AVENUE. 

Sir  Francis  did  not  choose  just  then 
To  front  his  friend  in  crowds  of  men ; 
But  bided  better  time  and  place 
To  bring  the  two  first  face  to  face. 
And  so  the  lovers  silent  passed. 
Her  eyes  upon  the  floor  steadfast, 
Were  burning  flame.     No  tear,  no  sigh, 
No  livid  lip,  no  pallid  brow, 
No  starting  back,  no  trembling  now. 
She  only  murmured,  "  he  must  die  ! " 


XXI. 

With  Doughal  stood  the  advocate, 
Quite  proud  and  honored  to  be  seen 
In  this  learned  grand  Greek's  company. 
He  clutched  his  button-hole,  and  he 
Clung  hard  and  held  him  fast  as  fate, 
And  glancing  'round,  back,  and  between, 
Began  all  breathless  to  relate 
How  this  Sir  Francis,  one  midnight, 
Was  set  upon  by  tramps  ;  how  one 
Of  these  same  fellows  had  betrayed 


ON    FIFTH    AVENUE.  215 

The  band  ;  that  now  the  trap  was  laid  ; 
But  strangest  thing  beneath  the  sun — 
And  here  he  clutched  him  close  and  tight, 
Let  fall  his  voice,  looked  left  and  right, 
Held  close  his  head,  and,  whispering,  said  : 
"  The  leader  of  this  midnight  band 
And  this  Sir  Jain  are  hand  in  hand ! " 

"  A  new  Dick  Turpin,"  smiled  the  man, 
And  stroked  his  beard,  and  stood  up  tall, 
And  calmly  smiled  his  scorn  on  all. 
"  A  poor,  weak  imitation  he. 
I  hate  all  copyists. 

My  plan 

Would  be  to  paint  a  picture  ;  do 
A  thing  original.     Now  you 
Have  room  to  paint  eternity, 
In  this  vast  land  where  scarcely  yet 
God's  rounding  compass  has  been  set ; 
And,  for  a  land  so  very  new, 
Your  skies  are  glorious  to  see. 

"  And  yet  your  silry  painters  paint 
The  old  Italian  figure,  saint 
And  dark  Madonna  ;  all  outdone 


216  ON    FIFTH    AVENUE. 

The  century  they  first  struck  oil. 
Paint  nature,  sir  ;  cast  off  the  coil 
Of  custom.     Why  paint  mortal  more, 
Where  God  leads  ever  on  before, 
As  visible  as  your  broad  sun? 
Ah  no  !     Your  feeble  painters  paint 
Their  imitations,  till  the  taint 
Of  felony  attaches. 

Be 

Patient,  sir,  and  pardon  me  ; 
But  will  you  tell  me  what  you  call 
That  red  wall-paper  that  hangs  the  wall?" 

Once  more  the  man  glanced  left  and  right, 

Then  knit  his  brows  from  nose  to  crown. 

And  then  he  held  a  pamphlet  out, 

And  half-way  turned  to  catch  the  light. 

Then  with  a  stiff,  important  pout, 

As  if  to  say,  beyond  a  doubt, 

You  put  it  rather  strong,  read  out, 

"  The  Bay  of  Naples — Loaned  by  Brown." 

"  Not  loaned  by  Brown  !    Done,  you  mean  ?  " 
"Yes,  loaned  by  Brown,  sir.     Loaned  !   You  see, 
It  does  not  matter  here  so  much 


ON    FIFTH    AVENUE.  217 

Who  painted  this,  or  such  and  such, 
Not  half  so  much,  sir,  as  to  know 
Who  owns  the  picture  now.     'Twas  seen 
Last  year,  in  this  same  annual  show, 
Made  up,  you  know,  by  gen'rous  loans, 
*  The-  Bay  of  Naples — Loaned  by  Jones.' 
'Twas  loaned  by  Smith  the  year  before ; 
And,  this  same  thing  you  think  a  bore, 
If  you  took  note,  would  teach  to  you 
The  changes  on  the  Avenue." 

The  robber  chieftain  smiled  and  cast 
1  The  fellow  raughly  off,  and  passed 
Along  the  crowd  with  lifted  head. 
"  A  vulgar  beast,"  he  laughing  said. 
«  A  knave  !  to  patient  stand  and  hear 
A  stranger  taunt  his  countrymen, 
And  all  their  honest  aims  in  art, 
And  never  dare  to  take  their  part. 

"  This  land  is  fair,  but  many  rocks 

Jut  out  and  welcome  you  with  shocks. 

The  very  men  a  man  should  meet, 

Hide  modest  in  some  sweet  retreat, 

And  brass  meets  brass  with  knuckled  knocks. 


2J8  ON    FIFTH    AVENUE. 

Yea,  'tis  the  best  land  that  hath  been, 
An  honest  town,  with  all  its  din  ; 
A  Hercules  in  lion  skin  ; 
A  brave  young  world  of  manly  men 
All  should  be  proud  to  champion. 

"  This  rose  tree  has  its  thorns,  and  he 
Is  but  a  prickle  on  the  tree. 
As  for  this  crowd,  these  pictures  here, 
>Tis  but  the  froth  that  hides  the  beer." 
Half  laughing  thus,  in  merry  mood, 
He  came  to  where  Sir  Francis  stood. 


XXII. 

His  lovely  lady,  from  the  hour 
She  came,  had  felt  the  tempest  lower, 
Like  black  storm  banners  in  the  skies, 
And  had  not  lifted  up  her  eyes. 


Her  eyes,  her  splendid  eyes,  bent  down  ; 
Her  large  and  ever-lifting  eyes, 
They  only  felt  that  sudden  frown — 


ON   FIFTH   AVENUE.  219 

She  felt  his  eyes  fixed  on  her  there, 
Like  dead  men's  eyes  in  awful  stare. 
Her  rich,  red  lips  fell  white  with  fear, 
As  breathing  deadly  atmosphere. 

"  O  come,  Sir  Francis,  take  me  hence  ! 
This  air  is  poison.     Here  be  men 
Who  frown  like  gathered  thunder,  when 
The  lightnings  sleep.     My  woman's  sense 
Perceives  it.     See  !  the  women  stare, 
And  gather  in  their  garments,  where, 
A  very  little  time  before, 
They  crowded  round  me  by  the  score. 

"  Nay,  nay,  not  that !  nor  do  I  fear ; 

I  cling  the  closer  unto  you, 

For  all  that  men  may  say  or  do, 

To  bring  you  shame.     But  I  feel  here 

Some  dark,  and  ghost-filled  atmosphere." 

And  now  they  stood  the  centre  floor, 
And  suddenly  all  men  stood  still, 
And  women  stared  with  common  will, 
And  she  crept  closer  than  before. 
She  lifted  up  her  great,  black  eyes 


220  ON    FIFTH    AVENUE. 

To  his  bent  eyes,  then  let  them  fall — 
She  only  lifted  her  black  eyes 
To  his  bent  eyes,  and  that  was  all. 

'Twas  as  some  covenant  of  old, 

Renewed  with  every  vow  re-said. 

He  bended  down  his  lofty  head, 

Till  her  dark  hair  was  dashed  with  gold. 

Above  the  two  the  great  lights  burned, 
It  seemed  with  fierce,  uncommon  glare. 
She  leaned  the  closer  as  they  turned  ; 
She  gathered  close  her  robes  to  go, 
When  quick  the  stranger  from  his  place 
Stepped  forth,  and  glancing  in  her  face, 
He  cried,  half  hissed,  hystericly, 
"My  God  !  Sir  Francis,  it  is  she  ! 
My  fair  wife  of  the  wilderness  ! 
Is  this  your  boasted  Baroness  ?" 


XXIII. 

Her  great,  proud,  bended  eyes  no  more 
Kept  sad  and  frightened  to  the  floor. 


ON    FIFTH    AVENUE.  221 

Beware  of  those  who  silent  bear 
All  things ;  for  they  all  things  will  dare, 
When  at  the  last  they  feel  one  touch 
Of  wrong  or  tyranny  too  much. 

She  stood  up  taller  than  before. 
She  looked  him  firmly  in  the  face. 
She  did  not  speak,  and  not  a  trace 
Of  terror,  rage,  or  aught  swept  o'er 
Her  calm,  proud  soul. 

She  only  drew 

Her  splendid  arm  more  firmly  through 
Her  lover's,  as  she  raised  her  head, 
And  hissing  through  her  teeth,  she  said, 
"  He  lies !  he  lies  !    This  stranger  lies  ! 
I  know  him  not !  .      .  For  this  he  dies ! " 


Sir  Francis  did  not  hesitate. 

He  made  his  choice.     He  knew  that  fate 

Had  drawn  her  sword-line  in  the  sand  ; 

That  each  man  now  must  play  his  part, 

With  earnestness  so  more  than  art, 

And  stepped  across  with  tight-clutched  hand. 


222  ON    FIFTH    AVENUE. 

'Twas  now  much  more  than  life  or  death. 
'Twas  love,  and  no  man  drew  a  breath. 
They  did  not  stir,  nor  speak,  nor  yet 
The  lady's  presence  quite  forget. 
The  two  men  stood,  and  each  did  stare, 
And  glare  as  rival  tigers  glare. 

Sir  Francis  looked,  to  look  him  through, 
Then  said,  slow  whisp'ring,  "Who  are  you?" 
"  I  am  that  lady's  husband,  sir, 
And  will  not  brook  your  touch  of  her  ! " 

Her  lover  staggered  back  as  though 
The  man  had  struck  an  iron  blow. 
But  instant  he  recovered. 

"I 

Must  beg  that  you  will  see  my  friend. 
I  call  you  liar  !  to  the  end 
That  we  may  meet,  for  you  must  die  ! 
Pray  let  me  pass  !     Come,  Baroness — 
Nay,  no  more  words. 

To-morrow  morn, 

Why,  we  will  answer  scorn  for  scorn. 
But  here  are  ladies,  sir,  and  you — 
Ah !  nobly  done  !  and  now,  adieu." 


ON    FIFTH    AVENUE.  223 

Then  Doughal  bowed  his  face.     As  one 
Who  feels  that  never  more  the  sun 
Shall  shine  for  him,  he  sought  the  night, 
And,  homeless,  roamed  in  sorry  plight 
The  narrow  streets,  and  waited  morn 
And  death,  less  dreadful  than  this  scorn. 

"  O  dear  Adora.     I  would  give 

The  round  years  of  my  life  to  live 

But  one  pure  day  with  thee  again. 

To  sit  again  in  sweet  retreat, 

To  only  see  thy  sacred  face, 

Uplifting  in  its  childish  grace, 

While  I  sat  silent  at  thy  feet ! 

O,  I  must  speak — in  vain,  in  vain  ! 

My  hands  are  cursed  with  crime,  my  name 

Unstained  till  now  is  black  with  shame. 

It  is  her  curse.     I  feel  it  now, 

It  lies  like  Cain's  brand  on  my  brow. 

I  cannot  lift  my  face,  and  I 

At  morn  shall  take  my  place  to  die." 


224  ON   FIFTH    AVENUE. 


XXIV. 

The  lady  scarce  a  word  had  heard. 
She  seemed  as  some  poor,  fluttered  bird  ; 
A  bird  that  hurries  anywhere 
When  storm  is  trembling  in  the  air. 

And  did  he  question  her  that  night, 
Poor  girl  in  all  her  sorry  plight — 
That  night,  anticipating  morn, 
Ere  he  took  hurried  leave  of  her  ? 
Of  her  strange  life  where  passions  stir  ? 
Her  awful  secret,  love,  or  scorn  ? 

I  know  not  that.     But  I  should  say 
He  spoke  her  gently  as  before, 
And,  waiting  her  own  time  to  speak, 
He  gently  pressed  her  pallid  cheek, 
And  passed  her  through  her  opened  door, 
And  so,  descending,  sped  away 
Without  one  question,  aye,  without 
One  touch  of  disbelieving  doubt 


ON    FIFTH    AVENUE.  225 

Or  dread,  that  on  the  morrow  fate 

Might  smile  and  make  the  crooked  straight. 

The  while  strong  Doughal  could  not  guess 

What  meant  this  noble  Baroness. 

He  could  not  trust  his  ears,  his  eyes, 

He  only  saw  his  splendid  queen 

Had  grown  more  fair  than  man  had  seen 

This  side  the  walls  of  Paradise. 


XXV. 

I  hate  reporters,  ranging  wide 
The  universe,  and  mounting  all, 
And  looking  down  on  either  side, 
Like  curving  tom-cats  on  a  wall. 
Like  poor  Poe's  Raven,  first  the  beak 
Is  in  your  heart,  and  then  the  cheek  ! 

What  chance  for  romance  ?   Mystery  ? 
I  hate  astronomers,  the  fools 
That  spin  the  stars  by  iron  rules, 
And  make  this  level  earth  a  ball, 


226  ON   FIFTH   AVENUE. 

That  tumbles  like  a  bumble-bee, 

And  bumps  among  the  blossomed  stars, 

Till  some  fall,  loosened  by  the  jars. 

O,  that  the  world  were  what  she  seems, 
A  broad,  vast,  level  land  of  dreams ; 
A  boundless  land,  a  shoreless  sea, 
A  God-encompassed  mystery — 
With  far  edge  stretching,  climbing  to 
The  sapphire  walls  of  fading  blue, 
That  touch  on  far  eternity  ! 

The  old  mythology  knew  one 
Who  never  had  been  known  to  sleep, 
But  saw,  as  the  all  seeing  sun. 
Well,  he  was  a  reporter. 

He 

It  was  that  could  not  keep 
His  nose  from  any  mystery. 
He  must  have  married,  for,  I  see, 
He  has  a  splendid  progeny. 


O  thou  that  ever  tearest  down  ! 
Let  me  bear  water  in  a  seive, 
Thou  curst  iconoclast.     Let  me 


- 


ON   FIFTH   AVENUE.  227 

Walk  down  my  vale  of  mystery 
Untracked,  and  build  my  wooded  town, 
With  never  sound  of  hammer.     I 
Implore  you  spare  me  while  I  live — 
Yet  spare  me  chiefly  when  I  die. 

Yea,  I  will  bribe  you  all.     But  see, 
I  have  not  aught  to  give.     Ah,  well  ! 
Will  speak  you  warmest  rooms  in  hell, 
With  south  exposure—next  to  me. 

O,  God  !  again  to  be  sincere  ! 
To  have  a  motive,  to  give  o'er 
All  reckless  roaming,  to  draw  near 
To  Nature's  temple,  and  once  more, 
With  bowed  brow,  and  with  naked  feet, 
Front  Nature,  awful  and  austere, 
In  truth  and  silentness. 

How  sweet 

Is  truth  !     How  cool  the  leafy  path, 
The  far-off,  west-wood  hermit  hath  ! 
There  all  is  earnest,  pure  like  snow. 
But  here  dwells  mockery.     Lo  ! 
The  dyer's  hand  takes  tinge  and  hue 
Of  that  he  deals  in. 

r^To: 


228  ON    FIFTH    AVENUE. 

I  was  true 

To  Nature,  did  not  dare  to  jest 
In  sacred  temples  of  my  West. 
But  reverence  forgets  me  now, 
And  here  I  jest  all  day  ;  I  dare 
To  laugh,  because  I  do  not  care 
For  Aaron's  calf,  old  Egypt's  cow, 
Or  young  Manhattan's  bull — or  bear. 

Laugh  down  the  gods.     Be  brave,  and  dare 

All  deities  that  are  not  fair. 

The  men  of  France  are  brave.    The  Main 

She  hath  no  braver  men  to  give — 

But  then  their  women  are  so  plain, 

Their  men  they  scarcely  care  to  live. 

Yet  still  there  are  some  mysteries, 
And  bloody  scenes  that  no  man  sees. 
For  you  must  know,  life's  river  flows 
Slow  seaward,  bearing  floating  chips 
And  paper  boats  with  sunny  sail, 
That  tack  about,  and  shout,  and  hail, 
As  changeful  as  the  wind  that  blows. 
Then  there  be  waifs  that  hug  the  land, 
Frail  maids  that  reach  familiar  hand, 


ON    FIFTH    AVENUE.  229 

Frail  men  that  lodge  by  bank  and  ford  ; 
But  this  same  stream  bears  silent  ships 
In  middle  sea,  strong  built  and  grand, 
Broad  sombre  ships  that  no  men  board, 
Still  muffled  ships  that  no  man  knows. 


XXVI. 

The  lady  at  her  window  kept 

Her  watch  all  night,  nor  waked  or  slept. 

She  felt  Sir  Francis  yet  would  come 

To  her  for  mercy.     And  she  knew 

The  tiger  nature  then  would  rise 

And  light  the  fury  of  her  eyes, 

And  that  her  lips  would  not  be  dumb. 

One  time  she  rose  with  hands  clasped  tight, 
And  leaning  looked  far  out  the  night, 
And  longed  that  he  would  come,  that  she 
Might  throw  her  at  his  feet,  and  be 
Forgiven.     Then  she  turned  away 
In  tears  and  terror,  and  did  say, 


230  ON    FIFTH    AVENUE. 

"  No,  no  !  man's  hand  hath  ever  been 

Against  me.     To  the  bitter  end 

Must  I  bear  all,  without  one  friend, 

Or  one  to  lean  upon.     Yet,  when 

All's  won;  well  done  .  .  .  My  heart,  what  then? 


"I  love  poor  Doughal,  love  him  true 

As  lioness  with  lolling  tongue 

That  crouching  licks  her  fondling  young, 

Sprawled  on  his  lithe  back  fanning  her, 

The  while  she  glares  the  forest  through. 

My  curse  it  crushes  him  ....  and  yet 

It  was  deserved.     Shall  I  forget  ? 

No  !    No  !     Now  let  my  mad  blood  stir  ! 

My  strong  hand  clutch  the  coronet !  " 

Sir  Francis  sat  alone.     His  friend, 

A  strong,  brave  and  accomplished  man, 

Had  come  with  compliment,  and  plan 

Of  meeting  in  the  Park  at  dawn  ; 

Had  done  his  work  in  haste  and  gone 

To  speak  his  fellow  ;  to  the  end, 

That  no  man  sighted  through  the  night, 

Two  dark-winged  ships,  like  birds  in  flight. 


ON    FIFTH    AVENUE.  231 

'Twas  nearing  dawn.     Yet  still  alone 
Sir  Francis  sat.     His  brow  was  calm, 
His  face  was  in  his  lifted  palm, 
And  all  things  seemed  as  still  as  stone. 
His  thoughts  were  all  of  her. 

The  Day, 

The  unboxed  freightage  there  that  lay, 
Just  landed  from  the  ship  To  Be— 
The  ship  that  now  had  crossed  the  sea, 
That  lonesome  sea  that  ever  flows 
Twixt  day  and  day,  that  no  man  knows — 
This  unpacked  freightage  there  that  lay 
Held  unto  him  strange  merchandise, 
And  yet  he  would  not  lift  his  eyes. 

His  thoughts  were  all  of  her.     No  care 
Or  thought  of  self  intruded  there. 
His  world  was  all  in  her.     Her  name 
'Was  on  his  lips  ;  like  the  blown  flame 
Her  form  was  ever  floating  there, 
More  mobile,  more  majestic,  fair, 
Than  she  had  ever  been  before. 
She  filled  all  space,  possessed  the  air, 
She  stood  before  as  to  implore, 


23  2  ON    FIFTH    AVENUE. 

Yet  still  as  silent  she  did  seem, 
As  star-born  beings  of  a  dream. 

"  Sir  Francis  Jain !  the  night  is  gray 
With  age.     Behold  the  grizzly  dawn 
Comes  driving  up  to  herald  day  ; 
And  we  must  instantly  begone. 

"  All's  well !  due  preparation  made 
And  wise  precaution.     It  is  laid 
Within  the  Park,  on  new  ploughed  land — 
Aye,  mind  the  step  !  give  me  your  hand — 
There  !  sit  you  close,  draw  tight  your  cloak. 
Now  as  we  drive — no  !  will  not  smoke  ? 
Ah,  yes  !  this  field  as  I  have  said — • 
A  splendid  place  to  hide  the  dead  ; 

"  And  has  been  used,  as  it  appears, 
For  this  same  thing  for  years  and  years. 
A  splendid  thing.     But,  then,  no  doubt 
The  gentlemen  take  ample  care 
To  not  entomb  too  many  there, 
Lest  some  reporter  smell  them  out. 


ON    FIFTH    AVENUE.  233 

"  The  weapons,  pistols.     This  you  know, 
I  swore  to  have,  or  else  to  fight 
The  man  and  bully  him  all  night ; 
And  this,  Sir  Francis,  saves  for  you 
The  least  of  care.     For,  were  you  not 
Through  all,  the  champion  pistol  shot, 
With  half-ounce  derringers  ? 

Well,  I 

Do  now  confess  I  had  to  lie; 
Protesting  all  the  while  that  you 
Were  as  a  stranger  ;  that  I  knew 
Not  anything  about  your  parts, 
Or  least  attainment  in  the  arts 
Of  war.     But  that  I  did  prefer 
The  stubbed,  bull-dog,  derringer 
— The  good  saints  keep  my  soul  from  harm — 
Because  it  was  a  gentlemanly  arm. 

"  The  time  is  dawn,  when  we  shall  see 
The  first  gray  sparrow  in  his  tree. 
The  distance  twenty  steps  ;  advance, 
And  shoot,  as  suits  your  choice  or  chance. 
But  drive,  Jehu  !     The  time  flies  fast. 
JTis  evil  sign  to  be  the  last, 
Besides,  'tis  scantest  courtesy." 


234  ON    FIFTH    AVENUE. 


XXVII. 

The  coachman  dashed  at  double  pace. 
A  light  struck  full  Sir  Francis'  face 
And  startled  him.     He  had  not  heard, 
He  had  not  heeded  one  small  word, 
That  his  impetuous  friend  had  said. 
The  beam  of  light  struck  like  a  sword. 
He  started  up,  thrust  forth  his  head, 
Then  clutched  his  friend  in  eagerness, 
"  Stop  !  stop  !  I  say!  that  light,  that  light  ! 
3Tis  from  my  lady's  window  height, 
'Tis  from  my  love  the  Baroness. 

"  Nay,  stay,  I  say,  one  instant  stay, 
Just  where  you  see  that  lone  light  play. 
I  will  uplift  my  face  once  more, 
This  last,  and  for  his  life  implore. 
You  do  not  understand.     Yet  stay, 
There  still  is  time  enough  to  slay. 
One  instant  'neath  that  window  sill, 
Then  drive  ;  drive  where  and  as  you  will." 


ON    FIFTH    AVENUE.  235 

The  iron  feet  like  thunder  drew 
The  fire  from  the  rocks  and  flew, 
Then  reined  them  plunging. 

Instantly 

That  window  on  the  Avenue, 
That  burned  all  night,  now  upward  flew, 
And*  quick  a  dark  dear  face  leaned  through. 

Her  face  was  pitiful  with  tears, 

Her  hands  clenched  tight.     She  seemed  to  be 

All  shaken  with  her  trouble.     There 

Were  streaks  of  frost  strewn  through  her  hair, 

That  had  not  touched  her  brow  before. 

He  reached  his  face  and  did  implore 

Her  mercy  for  the  man. 

She  threw 

Her  hands  in  hatred  and  despair. 
"  Go  !  kill  him  !  kill  him  dead  ! "  she  cried. 
"  He  lives  forever  in  my  light, 
His  shadow  makes  my  life  as  night. 
He  stands  before  me — has  for  years, 
Stood  like  a  bar  across  the  door 
Of  my  existence.     Go  !     God  speed 
Your  hand  in  this  most  holy  deed  !  " 


236  ON    FIFTH    AVENUE. 

"  You  kill  my  love  ! "  he,  pleading,  cried. 

"  This  boundless,  lawless  love,  for  you 

It  shall  not  live  this  dark  deed  through. 

I  tell  you,  if  this  man  must  die, 

My  love  shall  die  as  well,  and  I 

Shall  range  earth  like  a  frightened  ghost, 

Despising  her  I  love  the  most. 

This  love  this  night  has  nearly  died  " — 

"  Then  let  it  die  quite  dead  this  morn  ! " 

The  lady  cried,  in  screaming  scorn. 

"  Yea,  I  will  give  it  sepulture 

In  my  gold  thimble.     Nay,  a  seed, 

A  hollowed  bird-seed,  gallant  sir, 

I  surely  think  me  will  be  all 

The  tomb  a  love  so  frail  and  small 

As  this  of  yours  will  ever  need." 

The  window  clanged,  the  light  was  gone. 
The  strong  steeds  plunged  and  forward  flew 
The  instant,  and  as  if  they  knew 
The  bloody  mission  men  were  on. 
They  wheeled,  and  down  the  Avenue 
They  dashed  before  the  near  gray  dawn. 


FIFTH    AVENUE.  237 


They  bent  their  necks — they  fairly  flew 
Far  out  the  sounding  Avenue. 


And  she,  the  supple  lioness, 
With  fury  tossed,  and  love  and  hate, 
Scarce  knowing  what  she  dared  of  fate, 
Dashed  after  them.     The  Baroness 
Was  her  old  self.     Right  well  she  knew, 
To  track,  to  follow,  crouch  close  by 
And  hear,  see  all.      Her  child-life  through 
Had  been  but  this. 

"  Now  let  him  die  !  " 
She  hissed  as  from  a  clump  of  wood, 
Close  at  their  side  she  leaning  stood. 

They  stood  in  place,  face  fronting  face  ; 
Both  careless  quite  of  what  went  on 
And  calmly  waiting  the  full  dawn. 
Like  some  tall  antique  chiseled  stone 
Tall  Doughal  stood — stood  quite  alone. 
Some  surgeons,  as  if  accident 
Had  drawn  them  careless  to  the  place, 
With  ready  lint  and  implement 
Along  a  hill  kept  distant  pace. 


238  ON    FIFTH    AVENUE. 

No  friend  had  Dougal  there.     Alone 
He  stood,  as  one  cast  oat,  unknown  ; 
At  last  he  spake,  and  slowly  said, 
In  soft,  low  voice,  with  bended  head  : 

"  I  have  this  one  request  to  make. 
A  little  one.     And  it  is  made, 
Not,  I  assure  you,  for  my  sake, 
But  for  another's.     Let  the  dead 
Walk  noiseless  down  this  lane  of  nights, 
With  muffled  lip  and  earth-bound  breast, 
Nor  speak  to  startle  love's  delights. 
My  secret  and  my  last  request, 
Is  of  your  love,  the  Baroness — 
She  is  a  Baroness  ;   no  less." 

Two  dark  eyes  glared  from  out  the  wood. 

Her  heart  beat  tempests  where  she  stood. 

And  Doughal  laid  his  hand  upon 

His  heart,  and  tender-voiced  went  on  : 

"  But  briefly,  this  is  my  request. 

I  know  that  I  come  here  to  die, 

I  know  that  deadly  hand,  and  I — 

No  matter.     Let  my  corse  be  laid, 

With  this  vest  buttoned  to  my  breast, 


ON    FIFTH    AVENUE.  239 

Just  as  it  is.     Let  no  man  dare 
Invade  the  secret  hidden  there  ; 
But  let  me  'neath  this  same  sod  rest, 
With  her  dear  image  on  my  breast." 

Sir  Francis  and  his  second  bent 
Their  heads  in  quiet,  cold  consent, 
Then  lifted  hands  in  firm  conclave, 
That  what  he  asked  they  freely  gave. 
And  then  he  bowed,  and  only  spake— 
"  Ah,  thank  you,  thank  you,  for  her  sake." 

A  signal  gun  far  up  the  Sound, 
Like  cannon  wheels  on  frozen  ground 
Came  rumbling  in. 

A  little  bird 

From  bunch  of  grass  flew  sudden  out, 
And  swinging  circled  sharp  about, 
Then  tangled  in  a  sprangled  tree, 
And  there,  as  if  the  whole  world  heard, 
Began  its  morning  minstrelsy. 

Sir  Francis'  aching  brow  was  wet 
With  agony. 

Could  he  retire, 


240  ON    FIFTH    AVENUE. 

Now  at  the  last  one  little  pace  ? 
He  saw  his  friend  before  him  stand — 
His  one  true  friend  of  all  the  land, 
The  noblest  man  that  ever  yet 
Had  fronted  him,  stand  up  to  die  ! 
Stand  up  to  die  at  his  own  hand, 
All  mantled  in  dark  mystery. 

Could  he  forgive  him  ?     But  the  world  ? 
Sir  Francis  smiled.     His  proud  lip  curled 
To  think  that  he  could  stop  to  care 
Whether  it  recked  him  false  or  fair  ; 
Valiant-hearted  or  otherwise, 
In  its  uncertain  and  jaundiced  eyes. 


But  she  !     He  started  at  the  thought ; 
He  bit  his  lip  and  tasted  blood. 
He  shook  like  sere  leaf  where  he  stood. 
He  caught  his  breath,  for  had  she  not 
Cried,  kill  him,  kill  him  !  kill  him  dead  ! 
He  clutched  his  hand,  threw  up  his  head, 
Looked  at  the  man,  drew  hurried  breath, 
And  doomed  him  in  his  heart  to  death. 
He  pitied  him.     He  prayed  ;  did  ask 


ON    FIFTH    AVENUE.  241 

His  God's  forgiveness  with  bent  head.  .  .  . 
And  then  his  love  for  her  lay  dead, 
And  duty  took  his  hand  and  led 
The  sad  man's  soul  to  do  his  task. 

"Time!     One!" 

Two  hands  rose  high  in  air ; 
"And  Two  !  "     Two  hands  fell  sloping  down, 
"And  three  !  "    They  level  fell,  and  there 
Was  graveyard  silence  everywhere 
That  touched  the  far-off  waking  town. 

A  little  bird  sat  swinging  slow 

At  intervals  and  singing  low, 

With  head  held  cutely  down  sidewise, 

And  then  it  stopped  and  ceased  to  trill, 

And  sharply  peered  with  bright  pink  eyes 

As  wondering  why  all  was  so  still. 

"Advance  !  and  fire  as  you  will !  " 
The  surgeons  stop  upon  the  hill  ! 
Step  !  step  !  a  puff  of  smoke  !  a  clear 
And  sharp  shot  ringing  in  the  ear, 
A  left  breast  lifts  as  from  a  ball, 

And  Doughal  totters  as  to  fall : 
16 


242  ON   FIFTH   AVENUE. 

Falls  half-way  down,  comes  up  again, 
Still  fronting  stern  Sir  Francis  Jain, 
And  now  he  towers  strong  and  tall 
As  if  he  never  more  could  fall. 
And  does  Sir  Jain  not  flinch  or  fear? 
His  f oeman  draws  uncommon  near  ! 

Grand  Doughal  now  is  stern  and  grim 
With  fury  that  devours  him. 
"  Sir  Francis,  'tis  your  turn  to  die. 
I  have  reserved  my  shot,  and  I 
Shall  take  my  time  to  curse  or  slay — 
You  cannot  turn,  you  cannot  go, 
But  you  must  stand  and  facing  so 
Hear  all  that  I  may  choose  to  say — 
Nay,  do  not  fear  reproaches. 

I 

Have  none  to  give  ;  I  wonder  why 
This  shot  you  -sent  straight  at  my  heart 
Still  lets  me  live  to  bear  this  part. 
But  we  will  die  together  now. 
Bow  down  your  head  ;  I  pray  you  bow, 
And  I  will  give  you  time  to  pray  ; 
I  beg  you,  pray.     Bow  down  your  head, 
And  as  you  pray  shall  you  fall  dead. 


ON   FIFTH   AVENUE.  243 

"  Why  I  grow  stronger  now,  and  I 

Recover  from  the  shock  and  shot. 

Have  you  request  on  earth,  or  aught 

Of  grace  or  charity  forgot  ? 

I  pray  you  trust  them  all  to  me, 

For  now  I  feel  I  shall  not  die, 

My  blood  comes  tiding  like  a  sea, 

My  heart  beats  brave,  and  strong,  and  free. 

"  Yea,  trust  me.     It  was  my  request, 
That  my  wife's  letters  on  my  breast, 
The  picture  of  her  saintly  face, 
This  package  nestled  in  its  place, 
Should  with  my  dust  forever  rest, 
And  keep  her  secrets  sacred. 

You, 

You  know  what  honor  is  !  how  true 
A  true  vow  is,  unto  the  end, 
To  her  who  has  been  more  than  friend. 

"  This  package  from  my  breast — why,  what  ? 
My  God,  Sir  Francis,  what  is  this  ? 
By  all  the  saints,  it  is  your  ball, 
That  you  sent  searching  for  my  heart. 
I  beg  your  pardon,  sir.     'Tis  all  my  fault. 


244  ON   FIFTH   AVENUE. 

This  package  still  will  play  its  part. 
I  pray  your  pardon,  sir.     I  had  forgot  ; 
You  aim  at  hearts,  and  never  miss. 
Sir  Jain,  you  have  another  shot." 

"  My  letters  ?    O,  my  life  !    My  love  ! " 
There  came  a  cloud  of  long,  loose  hair, 
Two  round  arms  reaching  through  the  air. 
"  And  have  you  loved  me  ?     Is  it  true, 
That  still,  through  flood  and  fire,  you 
Have  borne  these  constantly  above 
Your  brave  heart,  roaming  anywhere  ? 

"  Sir  Francis,  friend,  O,  pity  me  ! 

I  love  this  man,  have  loved  him  through 

All  time,  and  for  eternity 

Shall  love  him  faithfully  and  true." 

Two  pistols  drop  upon  the  ground. 

Brave  hand  to  hand  each  swift  extends  : 

"I- lose  a  bride,  I  win  two  friends  ; 

But  O,  such  friends  !    The  wide  world  round 

Knows  not  their  peers,"  Sir  Francis  cries. 

"  And  lady,  Baroness,  and  heir 

To  titles  you  will  not  despise, 

Embrace  your  husband,  Lord  Adair." 


«^% 


14  DAY  USE 

KmJRN  TO  DESK  FROM  WHICH  BORROW*! 

LOAN  DEPT 


LD21  \   «'•" 

,  I  /'''I'- 


CK-.H-r.,ll..hr.,rv 
vrrsny  «>f  C.aliform* 

Berkeley 


